Monarch or Monster?
by CoronaIgnis
Summary: Pariah Dark rules again, but not without opposition. It's up to Danny and Danni to restore order to the Ghost Zone while also dealing with the legal situation in the Human World. Book 3 of the A.N.I.E.L. Files.
1. Prologue: Broadcast

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I present to you the long-awaited third installment in the _A.N.I.E.L._ _Files._ Put your hands together for _Monarch or Monster?_!

Oh, and please remember that I don't own DP and that this disclaimer applies to the entire fic. Just saying.

* * *

><p>I stood in front of the camera with my father and sister and the family pet.<p>

Sounds nice and innocuous, right? Taken out of context, that sentence makes it sound like we're a regular old family, Dad and the kids and the dog (a Labradoodle in a pink bow, to be exact), sitting down to take our Christmas pictures. Or maybe it was after some outdoors sporting event, or at a graduation party, or even just a happy loving family taking pictures for the sake of taking pictures.

In this case, my biological family and the _definitely-_not-a-Labradoodle and I were standing in front of the camera because we had just dropped a metaphorical nuclear warhead into the collective consciousness of an entire dimension.

Less than an hour ago, billions of ghosts had turned on their TVs to hear the High Observant Council's battle plan for defeating Pariah Dark, the 'dreaded ghost king of doom.' Instead, they'd been treated to a horrifying confession of crime, subterfuge, and greed that stretched back thousands of years. They had been told point-blank that the Observants had lied, that Pariah had never been evil, that the entire War of Power was nothing more than a group of opportunists seizing their chance for a coup d'etat.

But the message hadn't been all bad, mostly because of the whole 'Pariah had never been evil' part. It meant that they no longer had to be afraid, that they were safe. No army of thralls would storm through their homes, burning and pillaging and destroying everything in their path. No deranged, power-mad demon would unleash his fury on their unprotected bodies. They and their families and their friends were safe.

More than safe, in fact. Before Djall, aka The Bad Guy, had taken over Pariah, he had been the greatest, most enlightened, wisest king the two worlds had ever known. His reign had been called the Golden Age for a reason, you know.

And now, for the first time in centuries, the Ghost Zone knew that.

Which brought me in a full circle, because they knew about Djall and the soul merge and the coup _because _I had decided to stand in front of the camera with my father and sister and the family pet.

Let's go through this quaint, charming little picture, shall we?

The most pathetic thing about our bizarre family wasn't the three thousand years the father had spent in an enchanted coffin. It wasn't the rather disturbing contents of the pet's stomach. No, the most pathetic thing about the House of Dark (or House of Phantom, I suppose, because Danni and I had made the name famous) was that I was the most normal member of our family.

And I am not normal. I'm a time-traveling half-ghost superhero who was born in a test tube and raised by two deranged scientists who currently loathe me with every fiber of their being. That is _not,_ by _any_ stretch of the imagination, normal. In fact, it is decidedly _ab_normal.

But all my blood relatives are even weirder. Which I personally find kind of frightening.

Take Danni. She is also a time-traveling half-ghost superhero who was born in a test tube. Unlike me, though, she was never raised by half-rabid scientists because she melted into goop before being born. Then she was rescued by the Master of All Time, became my imaginary friend, and had her memories wiped so she could take the place of a failed me-clone. Except she still started dissolving into goop whenever she used too much power, so she and I embarked on this complicated adventure to stabilize her. And then, because the whole unstable clone thing just wasn't enough for her, she flew off into the sunset and spent the next couple years defending natural portals between the Ghost Zone and the Human World.

Next up in the weirdness ranking is our biological father, Pariah Dark, High King of All Ghosts, Prince of the Five Rivers, Commander of the Army of Thralls, Lord of the Infinite Realms, Head of the Great Councils, Ruler of the Underworld. (He has a bunch of other titles, but I'm not going to list them because you probably get the idea by now.) By the age of twenty, Pariah had singlehandedly united the many kingdoms of the Ghost Zone into a single massive empire. Unlike other conquerors, though, people had _begged_ to join his kingdom- and with good reason. He was just and fair and powerful, and the people adored him.

At least, they did until he was possessed by Djall and forced to go on a bloodthirsty rampage so horrendous that traces of it can still be seen today. No one knew he was stuck in a soul merge, so they blamed him for the destruction.

I'm repeating myself, aren't I.

But not even Pariah could compete with Ammut, his adorable soul-eating pet (I'm perfectly aware that that's a contradiction in terms. And I'm also aware that she's not a blood relative, but she's so odd that I have to include her). Part hippo and part lioness, with the head of a crocodile, Ammut was one of the strangest-looking ghost creatures I've ever seen. The pink bow she was wearing- a gift from Jazz, which she believed would make the infamous chimera look less threatening- only augmented the weirdness.

Not that anything else about Ammut is normal. Remember what I said about her eating souls? Yes: _she eats souls._ And pancakes, which apparently taste like souls and which I am never touching ever again. At the moment, there were two souls in her stomach- Djall and my jerky future self from an alternate timeline, Dan. Oh, and she's telepathic too, but not exactly in words.

So there we were, just the four of us, staring at the camera. Ammut was grinning, her tongue lolling, which made her resemblance to a happy puppy even more pronounced. Waves of contentment radiated off of her. Happy happy, she not-quite-said in her ancient, childish not-quite-a-voice.

I smiled slightly, patted her reptilian head. She snuggled in closer to me. Think working? Hope working.

I hoped so too. I didn't say that out loud, though, because Ammut is only linked to those of Pariah's blood. No one watching the TV had heard her, and I had no desire to look like a nut job by answering a voice no one else could hear.

Besides, if I spoke to her, I'd interrupt. Pariah had already started his speech.

He laid his hand in the Styx, the River of Oaths. "By blood and bone and name I swear. Thus I bind myself, by name and bone and blood, that my power shall never again be used for evil purposes. Thus I bind myself, by name and bone and blood, to never betray my people. Thus I bind myself, and any man foolish enough to use me as Djall did." His remaining eye glinted fiercely, just daring someone to try.

Hefty words, I thought, watching him take his dripping hand out of the magical waters. Yes, magical, as in, anyone who makes an oath on the River Styx is physically incapable of breaking it. If you try to break it, your own body will overthrow you and force you to carry it out. So even if Pariah ended up in another soul merge (which wasn't particularly likely, as he's going to be paranoid about that for a _long_ time), the combined entity wouldn't be able to re-create the War of Power. He could try, but then he'd end up in a nine-year coma.

Now it was his children's turn. Danni and I had removed our gloves before going onscreen. Acting as one, we dipped our hands into the river. The liquid was deathly cold and tingled slightly. Just touching it was enough to make my ghost sense go off with red mist. It's never done that before- blue for ghosts and teal for other halfas, but never red.

I spoke the words of binding first. I was the firstborn (at least, we were fairly certain I was the firstborn. Danni had melted into goo months before my 'birth,' so there was a bit of doubt about that. But we had somehow, without consciously thinking or actually speaking about it, decided that I was the firstborn), and according to the law of primogeniture, I got to go first.

The sensation of swearing on the River Styx wasn't exactly unpleasant. It was certainly unsettling, like being wrapped in a second skin that was a bit too tight, but not painful or anything. It wouldn't be painful unless I was dumb enough to break my oath (or at least try to. As we've already noted, actually breaking a Stygian vow was impossible). After recovering from the nine-year coma, the second skin would tighten like it was trying to squish me. Also, the waters that had absorbed into my bloodstream would start to burn 'like ten thousand pints of acid, scalding skin and organs, an excruciating punishment beyond comprehension.' They would keep doing that until I fulfilled my oath.

That description comes from a guy who actually tried it. He'd written a book on the experience, one my morbid curiosity had led me to read. I now regretted reading it, as I had enough to worry about without adding excruciating punishment beyond comprehension to the list.

I made pretty much the same promises that Pariah had- tell the truth tonight, do no evil, let no soul merge use my powers for evil (which I'd promised years ago, though not on the Styx). Each word I spoke was another layer of too-tight skin, another drop of enchanted water mingling with my blood.

Then it was over. I fell silent, irrevocably bound.

When I pulled my hand from the river, I couldn't help but notice that it wasn't wet. The water didn't cling to my body; it went back to its home. Only the droplets that had worked their magic on me remained.

Danni's oaths were a carbon copy of my own. We'd decided on them together, reasoning that since we had pretty much identical positions in the Ghost Zone's new government, we should probably be bound by the same strictures.

But though our positions in the new regime were identical, our reputations among ghosts were not. Danni had been a traveler, following the Infi-map to natural portals, where she fought the opportunists who used them to escape. In her spare time, she had wandered the Ghost Zone, defending weaker spirits from the bandits which plagued some places in the Land of the Dead. She'd had many adventures- singlehandedly taking down the Green Swords, the most notorious thieves in the Borderlands; preventing two major jailbreaks; defending Queen Pyrrha's right to the throne of the Burning Lands- but she had _not_ defeated the soul-merged version of Pariah Dark when he escaped three years ago.

That had been me.

In other words, I had no reason to let Pariah out unless everything we'd said was true. Locking someone into an enchanted sarcophagus does _not_ endear you to them. In fact, it usually makes them hate you.

And the whole Ghost Zone knew it. The story of a fourteen-year-old half-ghost with less than a year's worth of experience going out and defeating the most feared legend in the known universe… well, it had spread. Rapidly. And then it had entrenched itself in the public consciousness, making me just as legendary as Atlantis and Pariah himself.

Of course, I was even more of a legend now….

No, Fenton-Phantom, focus. It's time to address your people as their prince. Great power, great responsibility, and that.

I'd expected my voice to quaver, betraying my nervousness to billions of viewers. Instead, it was steady as stone. "First of all, I would like to apologize to every ghost I've been in contact with since Pariah's release."

Danni and I had debated for a long time on whether or not to call Pariah by name. We'd eventually decided to use both his given name and the title Father. We wouldn't exactly alternate- the order in which we used each appellation would be completely random- but our way of addressing him would tell the Ghost Zone that we were doing our utmost to make this family thing work, but that we weren't close enough yet to do stupid things (cough, release from an enchanted sleep, cough cough) for the sake of a blood tie.

"I was dishonest to you," I continued quietly. "And while I did have good reason, and I certainly didn't betray any of your hidey-holes and have no intention of doing so without permission, you all deserve an apology.

"Now that that's settled-" I'd originally wanted to say 'out of the way,' but apparently that sounded too dismissive "-I need to explain Danni's and my motivations. When we first found out about our convoluted heritage, we decided to ignore it. Unfortunately for that particular plan, the Observants had no intention of letting us carry it out. We ended up on trial for something we couldn't help.

"At a recess in the trial, Clockwork suggested that we should visit the Keep. That's where Ammut found us."

The chimera in question grinned, hippo tail wagging happily.

"She showed us her memory of the possession." Danni took over. Her voice, too, was firm and strong. "Danny and I were pretty skeptical at first- it seemed _way _too convenient. So we went to Clockwork, who looked into the future. He found out two things: first, that Ammut was telling the truth; and second, a way to free Pariah from Djall with minimum bloodshed. He told us that if we played our cards right, the Golden Age would come again."

Her mouth tightened. She hadn't particularly wanted to admit this part- she thought it made her sound needy- but we needed to be completely honest. "Of course, that wasn't my only reason for wanting to free Father. Part of my motivation was that of a selfish teenager: I wanted a family.

"If Clockwork had told me that Ammut was lying or that she had been tricked or that it was impossible to undo the soul merge, I would have left him in the Sarcophagus. I wasn't desperate enough for a parent that I'd endanger both worlds just to acquire one. But my reasons for releasing Pariah were threefold: desire for a father, the belief that it was unjust to let an innocent suffer like that, and hope for a new Golden Age."

My turn again. "So once the three of us decided to free Father, Clockwork found the timeline that was most likely to succeed. That's the memory you saw… though I don't think even he anticipated the Sarcophagus breaking.

"You saw what happened then," I sighed. "Djall is gone, and the true king is back. The Ghost Zone itself senses this- look at all the land that's reappeared, how much healthier the skies are. His mere presence is enough to heal this entire dimension."

"Our point is," Danni said, "that we don't regret what we did, because it was the right thing to do. And because it is the right thing to do, we will support our father and liege however we can."

The Stygian waters hummed in my blood, binding me once again.

* * *

><p>Confession time: This story is fighting me. I think it's giving me writer's block. <em>Spirited Away <em>isn't- that fic is going great- but for some reason it's been really hard lately to write MM.

Do any of you have reactions you want to see? I have some planned out, but suggestions are welcome.

-Corona


	2. Not a Hoax

Pretty much every aspect of our announcement had been ruthlessly scrutinized, dissected, and pondered. We had mapped out everyone's reaction to every possible word, trying to figure out how to make the people of the Ghost Zone- of Kantara- accept us with the minimum of psychological trauma.

Needless to say, Clockwork and Jazz had been very helpful with that.

In the end, we'd decided that there was only so much that people could handle. Tonight's broadcast had literally just uprooted centuries of propaganda and conditioning. The ghosts had to digest everything they'd learned, every last bit of a story that was downright impossible. Then, once they had adjusted at least a little bit, we could go back and answer questions.

Of course, we weren't mean enough to let them leave without answering the most pressing question of all: what in this world or the one before are we the people supposed to do about Pariah Dark?

This question was, for obvious reasons, one best answered by Pariah himself. In other words, Danni and I had done our part. We slipped off-camera, floated over to Tucker.

My techno-geek friend was surprisingly (or maybe not- he _was_ a techno-geek, after all) talented with cameras. He'd already proven his skill by filming my confrontation with two Guys in White. Now, partly because of that skill and partly because the media was (make that 'had been,' assuming they believed this message) too terrified of my father to volunteer to film him, he had become our official cameraman.

_How's it going?_ I mouthed. He shot me a thumbs-up.

Pariah spent the next few minutes explaining his plans: first and foremost, he intended to give reparations to those Djall had wounded. The High Observant Council had paid Djall's victims a token sum of money, but there was a huge difference between them giving recompense and Pariah making his sorrow and regret visible. Hopefully, this would make at least some people less afraid of him- it's hard to fear a guy who's giving out free money.

Jazz, when she'd heard about this part of the plan, had worried that Pariah would give away so much that he'd end up going broke. Then Pariah had told her just how much money he had access to, and she'd stopped worrying. She'd also needed to sit down for a while.

Let's just say that Danni and I will _never_ have to worry about going broke.

My father's second goal involved taking down the Observants, who had kind of proved that we probably shouldn't trust them. However, he refused to run the Ghost Zone without some kind of parliament, so he announced that the first round of elections for the new Council of Nations would take place on New Year's Day.

Once the Council was established (final elections would be just under a year from today), he would have them vote on the new laws he had come up with. Personally, I thought that the laws were so obviously good that the voting was more of a formality than anything else, but Pariah had assured me that in politics, formalities actually count for something. Who knew?

We were pretty sure that this election plan was just about as much as the poor ghosts could handle before going crazy from a dimension-wide case of weirdness overload. So, instead of going through the rest of his plans, Pariah announced that he would give them a chance to digest all of… _this,_ and that anyone with questions should check out his new web site. Yes, web site. It was yet another of Tucker's contributions to our cause.

Note to self: get him a really, really awesome Christmas gift each year for the rest of eternity. And awesome birthday gifts. And maybe a title. "Tucker Foley, Lord Minister of Technology," has a pretty nice ring to it, don't you think?

That can be the first of those awesome Christmas gifts.

"Okay," announced the future Lord Minister of Technology (I was pretty sure that Father would let him have that title. We'd obviously have to talk about it, but he was grateful to Tucker too). "Camera's off. I think that went pretty well, don't you?"

"For us, yeah," Danni agreed. "I'm not sure about the rest of the Ghost Zone, though."

"Or the ghosts in the Human World who still managed to see this," Jazz sighed. "Statistically speaking, I think that most of them will be willing to believe this- the inviolability of Stygian Vows is even more deeply ingrained in their psyches than horror stories from the War of Power." She hesitated. "I don't really like to ask this, Cephissus, because you're more than the sum of your powers, but…." Her voice trailed off.

Clockwork (or Cephissus, the name his Oracle mother had bestowed on him in what _had_ to be a very interesting backstory) knew exactly what she meant. His gaze went distant, eyes unfocused. Then he graced us with a tiny smile. "You're right, as usual."

"Good," Jazz muttered, sagging with relief.

"Of course she's right," I said, laying a hand across her shoulders. "Jazz is _always _right. In fact, I think that my first official act as prince shall be to decree that Jasmine Fenton is always right, and if she's wrong, the facts must be altered in order to _make_ her right." I nodded sagely. Oh yeah. I had this royalty thing down.

Jazz ruffled my hair. It wasn't exactly what I'd been aiming for, but since doing so seemed to cheer her up (and she needs cheering up, after the whole getting-disowned-and-seeing-her-parents-arrested thing), I submitted with a minimum of grumbling.

My sister's been kind of depressed lately. Not that I blame her or anything, because she has every right to be depressed. Getting disowned _sucks._ She's been using all her psychology tricks to cope with it, and she hasn't broken down or anything, but her perkiness is… gone. Normally, she's as chipper as an over-caffeinated squirrel. Now she's a lot quieter.

Sometimes, when she stopped her work (she's been just as involved in the Pariah thing as the rest of us), I would catch her staring off into the distance with this expression of abject misery on her face. Whenever that happened, I'd just go up and give her a hug. Not particularly manly, but pretty effective.

I'd been giving out a lot of hugs lately.

"How many people do you think are on the website?" Tucker wondered. He didn't know Jazz as well as I did, but they'd been living in the same castle for the past couple weeks (his parents had forbidden him from coming home until Agent L was captured. Sam's had done the same. It wasn't that they didn't love their children, it was just that L is a complete psychopath who wouldn't hesitate to murder them. Here, in the Ghost Zone, Sam and Tucker are safe). He too had seen how much the Fentons' rejection hurt.

"That depends on how many people have recovered from their shock enough to actually get their hands on a computer," Sam pointed out. "Because the second their paralysis ends, they're going onto the website."

"What _I_ want to know is how Vlad is handling this," I told the others.

Everyone under the age of two hundred (Jazz included) burst out laughing. Pariah, who had only vague ideas of who Vlad was, gave us a questioning glance.

"The other halfa," I explained. "The dum-dum who let the soul merge out of the Sarcophagus."

His eye narrowed. "The man who attempted to disintegrate my daughter?"

Danni stopped laughing. "Um, yeah."

"I would like to meet this man." His tone brooked no argument.

I was torn between hysterical laughter and gawking in mute horror. On the one hand, the look on Vlad's face when the High King of All Ghosts came barging into his house would be absolutely priceless. On the other…. Last time Pariah had learned that one of his kids (his son, this time, but the principle still applies) had been mistreated, he'd nearly vaporized them. Vaporizing Vlad, while doubtless very satisfying, was probably not a very politically intelligent move.

Something like hurt flickered in Pariah's eye. Wonderful, now he thought I didn't trust him. "The other halfa will survive," he assured me. "I simply wish to make him see the error of his ways- you did say, did you not, that he became a good man in the alternate timeline?"

"Yeah," I confirmed.

"Sometimes, men can only be reformed through shock. Perhaps, if I show him the error of his ways, he can redeem himself."

I considered his words for a moment before deciding that he was indeed giving a good reason to go see Vlad. Awesome. I'd wanted an excuse to laugh at his expression.

"Shall we?" asked Danni, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Because I think that Vlad needs to be reformed right away. It's downright immoral to let him walk the path of evil for a single second longer than necessary." She nodded sagely.

Pariah laughed softly (so did everyone else, but they'd never really stopped laughing, so I didn't really count them).

"Entertaining as Vladimir's reaction will be," Clockwork cut in dryly, "don't you have other things to attend to?"

My shoulders slumped. He was right, of course. We had to go back to the Keep, wait for ghosts to scrounge up their courage and come to speak with us. Oh, and answer emails, because I had no doubt that my z-mail account was filled to bursting with angry, hysterical, and/or congratulatory missives.

Danni groaned. She radiated abject misery for a few moments before visibly perking up. "Ha!" Grinning widely, she split into two Dannis. "Problem solved."

I followed suit. "You're right. Problem solved. Now let's go redeem Vlad!"

One of the nice things about having Pariah Dark as our father is that we don't have to hunt down portals (or use the Infi-map, in Danni's case) any more. All we have to do is ask him to open a portal to the human world. Well, we also have to go through the portal, but that kind of goes without saying.

Even better, that portal led us directly to Vlad's home. Sure, he had his own portal in the basement, but that was where he'd _expect_ us to come from. Somehow, the three of us had decided to sneak up on him, give him the shock of his half-life. All for redemptive purposes, of course. Definitely not because catching him by surprise would make this even funnier.

That's the official story and I'm sticking to it.

I'd been in Vlad's house enough times to know where he kept the computer he'd been using to watch the broadcast (TVs in the Human World obviously didn't get broadcasts from the Ghost Zone, so he'd been watching the internet version instead). Our portal opened two stories above the computer room, which was where the fruit loop _probably_ still was. There was a slight chance that he'd left, but I didn't think so.

And I was right. I could hear indistinct shouting from some chamber beneath us. Vlad, cursing the fates which had transformed his teenage nemesis into a prince, no doubt.

Danni bit her tongue. Her face was going red with the effort of fighting back giggles. "Invisible?" I asked. Grinning ear to ear, my sister nodded.

We flew through the floor and into the TV room. Vlad was in his ghost form, tearing through all his possessions like a glowing blue tornado. He was also shrieking at the top of his lungs.

"DANIEL, BY ALL THE FLAMES, THIS IS _NOT_ FUNNY! I NEEDED TO SEE WHAT WAS _ACTUALLY HAPPENING_ IN THE GHOST ZONE, NOT YOUR CHILDISH PRANKS! SON OF PARIAH DARK, MY _TAIL!_"

Fright Knight was sitting on the couch, watching his master without really watching him. He was far too dazed to actually respond.

Hm… I'd wanted to confront the fruit loop right away, but this was much more entertaining. Redemption could wait until… um… until we had a better handle on his current psychological state, which would allow us to redeem him more efficiently. Yeah. That was exactly why I was waiting.

"FRIGHT KNIGHT!" he barked. Fright Knight started. "Help me look for whatever listening device Daniel has put in my room. NOW!"

"…Listening devices?"

"Yes, listening devices. Bugs," he ground out. "This is obviously some kind of Halloween prank, and one which I do _not_ appreciate. I flatly _refuse_ to give him the satisfaction of believing that I've fallen for his ridiculous little joke."

"I don't think it was a joke, sir."

"Of course it was a joke! Daniel and Danielle Dark- _hah!_ That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard- and I've survived Jack blathering on about ghosts."

I stuffed my arm in my mouth to keep from laughing. My shoulder heaved.

Vlad continued raving (something about how he would have Tucker and me arrested for jamming his signal and keeping him from hearing a very important broadcast) until I finally couldn't take it anymore. I laughed.

Danni, deciding that since the cat was out of the bag, joined in. We became visible, clutching our stomachs and howling.

"Highnesses!" Fright Knight exclaimed. He dropped to his knees. "Forgive me!"

Vlad, of course, did not react like that. He sent two eye-beams in our direction.

Pariah intercepted the attacks. They bounced harmlessly off his small, compact shield, creating two small holes in the wall.

"I would appreciate it," he said, oh-so-mild, "if you would refrain from shooting at my children."

* * *

><p>How many of you would want to be in Vlad's shoes right now? *crickets chirp* Yeah, me neither.<p>

Ideas are still welcome. I do have sort of a plot hammered out (sort of), but any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Please?

-Corona


	3. Butter Biscuits

The look on Vlad's face when Pariah shifted into visibility was absolutely _priceless._

First his expression froze completely, stuck in a position of rage. Then his eyes widened to the size of golf balls. His jaw unhinged ever so slightly, parting his lips just enough for me to see his teeth. His eyebrows shot up, nearly disappearing under his hair.

Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed in a faint. He hit the floor with a faint _thud,_ limp as overcooked spaghetti.

Ah, redeeming people is so much fun.

Fright Knight was babbling, apologizing, begging for forgiveness. Pariah's face, which had been stern and immovable as he faced Vlad, softened. They had been friends, back in the Golden Age, and that friendship had been strong enough that Fright Knight continued serving the soul merge throughout the War of Power.

"Rise," Pariah ordered quietly. He took his vassal's hand, raised him to his feet. "You are forgiven, Roland."

Fright Knight's face split into a wide grin. It wasn't quite as reassuring as Pariah's most radiant smiles, but the joy in it made me- okay, I was already grinning, but Fright Knight made me grin more.

Then the smile faded. "I have done horrible things," he reminded his liege. "Both in the war and after, when I betrayed you for him." He nodded at the still-unconscious Plasmius.

"And in the end, betraying me- or rather, the soul merge of which I was a part- was the right thing to do," Pariah retorted. He sighed. "I only wish that you were not so loyal, that you had done it earlier."

"I could not bear to."

And just like that, they were… not quite friends again, because those wounds couldn't be healed immediately… but certainly closer than they'd been in centuries.

A moment like that was just begging to be ruined, so of course that was when Vlad woke up. He looked groggily around the room for a couple seconds, taking in Danni and me before noticing Pariah again. His face went through its stunned convulsions again. "…This has to be a nightmare."

I pinched him.

Vlad's eyes widened from golf balls to grapefruits. When he spoke, his voice was two full octaves higher than normal. "Oh, butter biscuits."

Fright Knight looked from one of his masters to the other. "Ah, Vladimir, I'd like to tender my resignation." Then he backed away, out of the line of fire.

Smart man, Fright Knight.

Pariah loomed over Vlad, who was still lying on his back. "I have heard of your actions from my children," he said. His voice was light, almost pleasant, like silk over steel. "Now I would like to hear your version of the story."

Vlad's expression changed from oh-crud-I'm-gonna-_die_ to wait, wha? He had obviously expected my large, terrifying, insanely powerful father to have vaporized him by now. "S-sorry?" he squeaked.

My father repeated himself.

"Is this a trial?" he gasped, appalled. "Because I- I have the right to remain silent! And the right to an attorney!"

Poor Pariah just looked confused, though he hid it well enough that Vlad didn't notice.

"I'm pretty sure that the Miranda Rights only apply to the American justice system," I told Vlad helpfully.

"And," Danni added, "I kind of doubt that the human attorney you have handling the Guys in White thing would be much use."

Pariah shot us a warning look, a silent command to shut up and let him do his thing. We shut up and let him do his thing, though not before sneaking another couple glances at Vlad. The fruit loop had noticed my father's silent rebuke- his gaze was riveted on his king's face- but he had obviously mistaken the expression's cause. He'd gone even paler, and huge beads of sweat were rolling down his face.

He was absolutely terrified. Of course he was. He thought he was going to… not die, because halfas can't die… but he must have thought he'd spend the rest of his half-life in some rat-infested torture chamber.

Suddenly, redeeming Vlad wasn't quite so fun. A quick glance at Danni revealed that she seemed to have come to the same conclusion.

In the words of Vlad himself: ah, butter biscuits. Why was it that I couldn't even laugh at my enemy's semi-comedic terror without my stupid hero complex getting in the way?

I sighed. "Chill, cheese head. He's not going to vaporize you."

Unfortunately, that did not have the effect I'd intended. In fact, it had the opposite result. What little color still remained in Vlad's face drained away. He collapsed, not unconscious, simply unable to stand anymore. His knees had obviously been reduced to jelly.

Once again: _butter biscuits. _"He's not going to torture you either," I babbled, trying (and probably failing) to undo the damage. "You'll be fine. He really just wants to hear your side of the story. He's, like, the king. That's what he does."

Danni elbowed me. "Nice going," she muttered, almost too quietly for me to hear.

I elbowed her back.

"My son speaks the truth," Pariah assured Vlad. "I have no intention of destroying you, nor will I cause you any bodily harm." His eye narrowed. "That does not, however, mean that you will go unpunished for your crimes."

Vlad squeaked.

For a long, awkward moment, we just floated there. Vlad pushed himself to his feet, bought time by brushing off his uniform. "I… um…. Has your- your son-" (His right eye twitched) "-told you about-"

"Pretend that he has not," Pariah ordered.

Vlad nodded. "Of course, Majesty. Of course. I- um-" He paused, searching for the best way to explain- i.e., a way that wouldn't make him look like a psychotic old man in desperate need of _multiple _cats. His current feline (I flatly refuse to call her Maddie. Tucker renamed her Mapsie, since we found out about her sometime around the Infi-map incident) did not suffice.

Speaking of the cat, she seemed to like Pariah. I'm pretty sure that snuggling into someone's legs is cat-speak for "I like you."

I'd never seen Vlad so uncertain. He was usually so smarmy, so in control. Seeing him flounder and flail was like seeing Tucker become a die-hard ultra-recyclo vegetarian. It just _wasn't natural. _

…maybe we should have found a slightly less sadistic way to reform Vlad. Or maybe this was exactly what he needed, and I just didn't have the stomach for it.

I thought of the Vlad from the alternate timeline. He'd had to break to heal. In his case, that break had been literal- his ghost half had been torn out and absorbed into Dan's soul merge. That Vlad had literally lost half his soul, half of his entire being.

As always the thought of being un-halfa-fied made me shudder.

Okay, Fenton-Phantom. Back on topic. You're here redeeming Vlad, so you should probably focus on _that_ instead of your worst nightmares.

Vlad finally scrounged up the courage to speak. Except for a tiny tremor, his voice was steady and calm. Despite myself, I almost admired him. It takes guts to explain your actions to someone who could crush you like a bug.

"I met Jack Fenton my junior year of college. We were roomies- ah, roommates. At first we didn't get along- I thought he was crazy for believing in ghosts- but we had a mutual friend in Maddie. She and I grew up together, and she became his tutor. After a while, Jack grew on me. And… and so did Maddie. We had always been friends, but…." He grinned sheepishly. His cheeks acquired a purplish tinge.

It's one thing to talk about something you did. It's quite another for a full-grown man to talk about something he _felt_.

"To be blunt, I fell in love with her. So when she and Jack announced their plans to build a proto-portal to the Ghost Zone, I volunteered to help. I thought it would bring us closer. I never thought it would _work._

"But it did work, obviously. The blast from it caught me in the face, giving me an awful case of ecto-acne. I ended up in the hospital for five long years."

"What was it like in the hospital?" Pariah interrupted.

Vlad hesitated. Pariah's eye narrowed. Vlad gulped and confessed, "Terrifying. No one knew what had happened to me. They thought I might die at any minute. _I _thought I might die at any minute. And the fact that I was developing _ghost powers_ and a _ghost form_ wasn't very reassuring."

Ah, crud. Now I was sympathizing with him. I knew better than anyone else what it was like for a human to develop ghost powers, and he was right. It was scary, even without a bunch of doctors breathing down your back.

Come to think of it, Vlad might have had it worse than I did. I'd only lived with the world's most clueless scientists. He'd been stuck with a bunch of doctors with a vested interest in his physical state. In all honesty, it was a miracle that no one had noticed his powers developing.

"And… it was… lonely." His jaw clenched. He looked aside. His expression just _dared_ me to comment.

I didn't, of course.

"They didn't visit me," he confessed. "Jack and Maddie. It was like they forgot my existence. I called them, but they didn't call me. They didn't even invite me to their wedding."

My pity for him doubled.

Vlad spoke more quickly now, doubtless embarrassed by his unmanly show of emotion. "I went into business, used my ghost powers to overshadow humans. I did _not,_ however, murder anyone."

Danni nodded grudgingly. Lola and Maurice Foley, who were unofficially in charge of investigating Vlad's corrupt business practices, hadn't found any evidence that he'd killed anyone. I'd been pleasantly surprised by that fact- I always assumed that he went further than just overshadowing people.

"I lived that way for the next fifteen years. Then, when I met Da- um, the young prince… I saw red. Bad enough that Jack had won the woman of my dreams, a happy life, humanity- now his son was the only person in the worlds who could even _begin_ to understand me? I hated him even more, and when Danie- the prince- kept denying me, that hate came to encompass him as well. So I, um…."

In a way, Vlad didn't even need to continue. One of Pariah's powers is the ability to look at a person and see his crimes. Right now, I had no doubt that he was looking at Vlad's, reserving judgment, seeing the actions and hearing the motivation at the same time.

I wondered what he could see- and what he would do.

The other halfa had trailed off, probably hoping that his not-quite-a-trial was over, so Pariah decided to give him another prompt. "What do you believe is the worst crime you ever did?"

Vlad's face resumed that same bug-eyed expression of stunned horror that he'd gotten right before fainting. Pariah's face assumed an expression that said, I'm _waiting._

"I- I- I think that that would be- um-" He glanced around wildly, desperate to avoid my father's eye. "Um… attempting to melt the- the princess- into a puddle of goo. Yes. The entire cloning affair was… not my brightest idea."

Pariah nodded slowly, oh so slowly. His jaw tightened, no doubt because he could _see_ Danni's pain and terror.

The silence stretched on and on. Finally, my father lifted his head and stated, "Vladimir Masters-Plasmius, you have convicted yourself of crimes most heinous. Your punishment is as follows. Firstly, you shall distribute your ill-gotten gains among those who _should_ have received them. Anything left over you will donate to a charitable cause. Secondly, once Jack and Maddie Fenton are in jail, you will go to them and confess your evils."

Vlad had been nodding throughout the first part of his punishment, but at the second, he froze. For a moment I thought he'd say something, but he thought better of it and shut his mouth.

"Third, you shall abdicate your position as mayor. Fourth, you will spend the next ten years at my court."

This time Vlad couldn't stop himself from squawking, "What?"

Pariah's eye glinted in amusement. "Fourth," he repeated, "you will spend the next ten years at my court."

He nodded hastily. "Yes, of course. But, um, may I inquire as to why, Majesty?"

"You may. First, my children tell me that you are a clever man, and well versed in the ways of the modern world. I may find myself in need of your advice- but I _will_ have other advisors, so don't think of taking advantage of that. Second, have you not heard how wise it is to keep your enemies close?"

Somehow, Vlad pulled himself together. "Yes, M-Majesty, I have." He hesitated. "I- I hope, however, that- that perhaps, one day, you will not consider me your enemy."

Despite myself, I couldn't help but admire Vlad. Fruit loop or not, he's got guts.

Pariah's face split in the famous smile which had united the Ghost Zone into Kantara. "One day," he laughed. "Perhaps."

* * *

><p>This was originally going to be a lot more painful. Then Pariah's kingliness got in the way. Curse his kingliness.<p>

Roland is the name of Charlemagne's right-hand knight in _The Song of Roland._ Like Fright Knight, he was really tough and had a magic sword. However, that's pretty much where the similarities end.

A couple more chapters with reactions, then onto the plot.

-Corona


	4. Grand Whatchess?

"So, children," said Pariah, once we'd flown to the roof of Vlad's mansion. "How do you think that went?"

"Um…" I locked gazes with Danni, who looked just as helpless as I felt. Neither of us really wanted to answer.

Our father waited a few seconds before changing strategies. "Danielle, what did you think of our encounter?"

Poor Danni got this deer-caught-in-headlights face. She swallowed once before mumbling, "It was different than I expected."

But of course he wasn't letting her off that easily. "How so?"

She scowled but knew better than to play games. We all knew that Pariah would pry her opinions out of her if it was the last thing he did. "On the one hand, it was a lot better than I expected. I honestly didn't think that he'd come around so quickly, not to mention that his disbelief was… actually, it was kind of insulting. He must think we're really, _really_ immature if he believes we would hack into his transmission like that.

"On the other hand," she sighed, "I didn't… I didn't expect to feel sorry for him. But it was hard not to- he was so scared, and it's pretty obvious that he was still hurting, even after all these years."

Our father accepted that answer. "What about you, Daniel?" he queried. I grimaced- of course he wasn't letting _me_ off so easily either. "Do you think we did the right thing in confronting the other halfa?"

Oh, good. He'd given me a much easier question than he'd given to Danni. My sister actually looked a bit jealous.

"Of course," I answered. "Vlad's a criminal, and if he continued in that vein for much longer he would have ended up doing something irreparable. He's done things that deserve punishment, and the punishment you gave him is perfect. It offers a chance for redemption, and he's already figured out that we want him to become a better person."

"So you are completely satisfied with our behavior?" he asked, raising a brow.

I sighed, hung my head. "No."

He let the subject drop, confident that we'd learned our lesson. Which we had, if only because it had been shoved down our throats.

For a few moments, we sat there in familiar- and I mean that in both senses of the word- silence, completely comfortable with each other. Finally Danni commented, "You really are good at this parenting thing, Father. You're sure you haven't raised kids before?"

"Absolutely positive, Daughter."

* * *

><p>My family was lucky. They could go back to the Ghost Zone, remerge with their duplicates and generally get on with their half-life and afterlife. I had one more, much less pleasant task to fulfill before heading back to the Keep and rejoining my own duplicate. Namely, I had- ah, <em>got-<em> to head over to the Sanctuary in Colorado and explain to a bunch of angry super-powered ghosts that I really, truly, honestly, genuinely hadn't betrayed them.

It would be easier said than done.

At the risk of sounding boastful, I'm widely considered to be a pretty tough cookie. I've fought armies and monsters from humanity's darkest nightmares. I've bled gallons of blood, been stabbed and poisoned and scarred. I'm powerful, respected, skilled, and experienced.

I was also utterly terrified at the thought of confronting these ghosts, all of whom had trusted and depended on me, now that they knew the truth.

"This sucks," I muttered, hovering about half a mile from the building itself. One deep breath later, I added, "But you'd best get it over with _now_, before they start thinking that you're too ashamed to confront them. Or that you need to finish rallying the army that's coming to destroy them and everything they've ever loved." A groan. "Ring and Crown, how do I get myself into these messes?"

I walked towards the Sanctuary, lowering my shields as I went. My speed was moderate, not too fast and not too slow, so that they'd have a chance to realize I was coming. If anyone was too afraid of Pariah Dark's son to exist within a half-mile radius of him…. Well, I figured they deserved a bit of a warning.

Unfortunately, if they'd decided to raise an army and attack me, then my deliberate delay would give them more time to plot their attack. The assault wouldn't amount to much, because I still had a duplicate back at the Keep and could simply remerge with it if things went south, but being attacked wouldn't be a very good omen for the start of my princely duties.

About a hundred yards from the manor, I dropped to the ground and approached at a walk. My hand were held up in the universal gesture of I'm-not-going-to-attack-so-please-don't-shoot. My ghost sense was at full alert, straining for any trace of the inevitable army. So far, it hadn't activated, which was good.

Oh, wait. It was going off. I tensed.

The Box Ghost swooped down from the sky, grinning ear to ear. Seriously, I've never seen a smile half that wide. "HIGHNESS!" he cried jubilantly, and wrapped me in a hug.

…okay. I did not see that coming. Not that I was complaining or anything (unless Boxy's embrace was just a distraction so the army could finish getting into place), but it was kind of unexpected.

"Hi," I replied blankly, because there really wasn't anything else I could say to that. "Nice to see you, too."

Boxy backed off, only to be replaced by his much stronger wife. The Lunch Lady squeezed me tight, swinging me back and forth like I was her favorite four-year-old grandson.

This _had_ to be a distraction- though it was definitely the weirdest distraction I'd ever before experienced. I strained all six of my senses for the army that _must_ be surrounding us, probably using the trees for cover in addition to their natural invisibility, but couldn't find anything. How were they hiding from my ghost sense?

But nothing and no one attacked when the Lunch Lady released me. I certainly wasn't complaining about that, but it did make my hair stand on end. "Hi to you too. Where'd your husband go?"

The Lunch Lady shrugged. She, too, was beaming gleefully.

"Okay, then. Where's everybody else?" (Please note that by 'everybody else,' I meant, 'that army that's inevitably hiding in the bushes waiting for me to let down my guard.')

She waved negligently. "Oh, they're still in shock, but _we're_ not. We have already realized-"

"-what wonderful news this is!" the Box Ghost cried. He zoomed back towards us. His grin hadn't lessened in size or intensity- in fact, I think it grew. He was also carrying an explanation for his and his wife's bizarre behavior.

Box Lunch gurgled happily. She was still a baby, too young to know that her favorite babysitter (who also happened to be her godfather) was the son of the big scary bad guy.

"Here she is," Boxy proclaimed. "The goddaughter of the son of the High King of All Ghosts! That makes her at _least_ a grand duchess, right? Right?" He fixed me with a huge pair of puppy-dog eyes.

"Um… I have no idea," I confessed honestly.

"But we shall find out," the Lunch Lady declared. "For that is doubtless why you have come- to whisk our daughter- who is also your goddaughter. Just reminding you, dearie- to the luxurious, safe, and nutrient-filled life of a noblewoman!" She sniffled, wiped tears of joy from her eyes. "They grow up so fast!"

Box Lunch made this little bubbling baby noise. "She knows," her father whispered. "She knows that today is the day her afterlife changes forever- and for the better! One day, she shall be a ruler of men, as befits the all-powerful daughter of the almighty BOX GHOST and his beautiful bride."

"Actually," I cut in, "that's-"

"Princes shall seek her hand!" the Lunch Lady cried. She frowned, amended, "Well, not _you,_ of course. But other princes. They shall seek her hand not only for her great beauty, but for the noble titles- which is plural, meaning more than one title- bestowed upon her by her loving and merciful godfather."

"Um, guys-"

"And one day!" the Box Ghost cried. "One great and glorious day, she shall become a queen!"

Both proud parents burst into tears. Box Lunch, not understanding that her parents weren't sad, began to whimper.

"Don't I get a say in this?" I grumbled.

My goddaughter's whimpers graduated to sniffles. I snatched her from her overemotional father's arms, patted her back. She settled down.

"Huh?" the Lunch Lady asked, utterly befuddled.

"Okay," I admitted, "that came out wrong. But, um…." How to phrase this without making them both cry (well, cry more)? "I didn't exactly have plans for crowning her a grand duchess or whatever."

Ah, crud. It looked like my attempt to break the news gently, without them crying even more, wasn't going to work. They were both _looking_ at me with those big sad Cujo eyes.

"What I'm trying to say is that the new government is still in its planning stages," I hastened to explain. "I mean, we've got to figure out how much democracy to mix in, who the new representatives are going to be, who the new nobility is going to be- because the Ghost Zone's expanded a lot since the Golden Age- pretty much everything. That, and everyone has personal issues we have to sort out. I kind of just came here to explain to everyone that I haven't turned over to the dark side- or Dark side. _Hah_- or anything, that Danni and I are still doing everything in our power to help you guys out. We're just doing it differently now, that's all."

"Well, of course," the Box Ghost said, surprised. "Did you truly believe that I, the Box Ghost, would choose anyone but an incorruptible soul to godfather my pride and joy?"

"Um…no?" I didn't like sounding so uncertain, but their behavior was really starting to scare me. If it really was a distraction for the army, then it was the best distraction I'd ever faced. It was also by far the weirdest.

Wait. If I knew that there was an army hanging out somewhere just beyond the range of my ghost sense, why was I standing here talking to the distractions? I should be trying to convince the army that I wasn't here to hurt them, preferably before they finally attacked.

I brought my hands up again into the same universal-gesture-of-surrender pose that they'd been in earlier. "I'm not here to fight," I said slowly and calmly, much like you'd talk to a strange and hostile-looking dog that you really didn't want to attack you. "It's all right, everyone. No one's going to get hurt."

"Of course not," Boxy agreed dismissively. "For you and the she-halfa are mighty enough to keep even Pariah Dark in line. That, and I, the Box Ghost, am also here. All within my presence are safe."

"You know," I grumbled, "I think you're taking the distraction thing a bit too seriously."

All three ghosts- mother, father, and child- stared at me blankly. In the adults' case, the blankness was because they honestly had no idea what I was talking about (that, or they were really good actors. Somehow, I doubted that). In the baby's, it was because she's almost always blank-faced.

"…So you weren't sent out here to distract me while a ginormous army of angry ghosts suppresses its anger at me long enough to surround me on all sides before attempting to eliminate me?"

The adults shook their heads. Box Lunch observed her parents' actions and mimicked them, shaking her own head back and forth.

"So if the other ghosts aren't massing into an enraged mob, what _are_ they doing?"

"They are not as mentally strong or clever as we are," the Box Ghost explained. "Their feeble minds were overwhelmed with shock at the revelation of your true identity. They do not understand that today is a day of rejoicing!"

"Though it would have been even better if you'd crowned our baby a grand duchess," the Lunch Lady interjected. She tickled her daughter, crooned, "That's right. Who's Mommy's little grand duchess-to-be? That's right- _you _are!"

As always, I didn't know whether to be touched or disturbed by their family moment. I opted to change the subject. "So let me see if I've got this straight. Everyone else who came to Sanctuary is just sitting in that room gawking at whatever they used to watch the broadcast? They're frozen in their seats like glowing wax sculptures?"

"I blame the lack of proper nutrients in their diets," the Lunch Lady muttered. "If they just ate more meat, they'd have come out too. Fish, specifically- that's brain food."

"Can you tell me how they seemed?"

"They seemed like they needed more fish."

"Yeah, I gathered that. But I meant emotionally- did they seem about to freak out, about to riot, just plain shocked, happy, what? I'd kind of like to know before going in there."

"Just plain shocked," the adults chorused.

I grimaced. That was certainly better than the first two options, but I'd have preferred a little more relief. "Can I ask you guys a favor?" Three nods. Box Lunch once again imitated her parents. "Thanks. I need you to go inside the building and tell everybody that I come in peace. And alone- there's no army of thralls in my back pocket. And that I'm not here to hurt anybody, which, now that I think of it, kind of falls under the 'coming in peace' part." I was babbling, so I shut myself up before something stupid escaped my lips. It's happened before, and I really don't want it to happen again.

"We shall do so," the Lunch Lady declared. "Come, husband and daughter, let us bring the good news to those deprived of fish!"

They flew off into the Sanctuary.

I waited, pacing back and forth, back and forth. How _would_ everyone react? Anger, fear, hurt, what?

Fortunately (or perhaps not), I didn't have much time to ponder that. Less than five minutes after the little family of three had left, Sanctuary's door opened, and ghosts spilled out onto the grounds.

* * *

><p>Pariah should write parenting books. If you don't agree, then you, like the paralyzed ghosts who were hiding in Sanctuary, are in dire need of fishy brain food.<p>

Again, I'm still open to ideas, suggestions, etc.

-Corona


	5. Accused

The ghosts of the Barrens are a loud, unruly group of anarchists, lunatics, and eccentrics who border on lunacy. They tend to be pretty loud (meaning that they never shut up. If you've ever met Technus, you know exactly what I'm talking about). So it was beyond unsettling see them (and the other refugees, I suppose) surround me without making a single sound.

Ghosts can be quiet in ways that no human can manage. Every human breathes. Every human's heart beats. Ghosts don't have heartbeats; ghosts don't have to breathe unless they want to say something, in which case they have to inhale.

None of these ghosts was interested in speaking, so they didn't breathe. The silence they made was like the silence of space, where no one could hear you scream.

I gulped involuntarily. The ghosts' eyes, each of which was already fixated on my person, narrowed.

Well, since I'd already broken the awkward silence (sort of. It had already returned full-force), I might as well keep breaking it. "…Hi."

A few ghosts nodded. One or two raised their hands in greeting. The rest just floated there, silent and shell-shocked.

Nervousness made me swallow several more times before continuing. "You guys do know that I'm not the enemy, right? Because I swear to you, he doesn't know. Pariah, I mean. He doesn't know that this place exists, much less that there are a bunch of runaways hidden in it. And if you guys don't want me to tell him about it, then I won't."

The ghosts exchanged glances. I saw the skepticism on their faces, in their eyes. It hurt, but I did kind of deserve it. Hadn't I just spent the past month lying to them?

"I'm still under the influence of the Styx, you know," I reminded them. "You know, the tell-no-lies part of my oath. So since I'm not collapsing into a nine-year coma before entering a half-life of screaming agony, you know that I'm telling the truth. Like I said, I won't tell Pariah about this place or you or anything until I have your permission."

They murmured amongst themselves, speaking too quietly for even my enhanced senses to hear clearly. I caught a few phrases- "prince," "liar," "hero"- but not everything. All I could do was wait silently. My feet shuffled of their own accord.

"Why did you come?"

It was Skulker who asked the question. I wasn't surprised. He'd always been brash and loud and outspoken. Of course he'd been elected their unofficial spokesman. Today, though, his voice was uncertain, almost quiet.

I met his eyes. There wasn't any anger there, just confusion and nervousness. "I came because it wouldn't be right to stay away." A groan. "Okay, that sounded like something out of a cheesy underfunded romantic drama movie."

Skulker actually laughed, as did a few of the others. They were the ones I recognized, the ones who knew me best. The laughter died quickly, but it was still laughter.

"But yeah," I sighed, "it _would_ be wrong to stay away. I did kind of lie to you guys- I'm pretty sure it was for a good reason, but I still lied, and I need to own up to that. So, yeah. Here I am." I shrugged.

The awkward silence resumed, as did my discomfort. "Seriously, guys, aren't you going to say anything? Yell at me, run screaming, anything?"

"You want us to run screaming?" Skulker inquired, raising a mechanical eyebrow.

"No!" I shook my head violently. "What I'm saying is, you guys are creeping me out by just staring at me, and if you have any, you know, questions or anything, I'd like to hear them sooner rather than later. I've kind of got a duplicate back at the Keep, just kind of hanging out waiting for the reporter mob to-"

Walker floated out of the crowd. "Really," he sneered. "A duplicate back at Pariah's Keep."

"Um, yeah. I kind of half-live there now."

He stalked forward until our noses were almost touching. I grimaced- this guy needs someone to introduce him to breath mints, and fast. He _reeked_.

"Tell me, punk," he growled. "How in either of the worlds did you convince the king that _you_, an abomination against the natural order of the universe, and your equally unnatural _clone_, are really his children? Because I think that you're lying to him, to the Observants, to the entire Ghost Zone. And lying. Is against. The rules."

"And getting in someone's face like this violates the basic social norms of American society," I retorted dryly. "As does not taking care of bad-smelling breath."

Walker jabbed me in the chest. A few of the ghosts gasped or sucked in breaths. They knew a fight when they saw it, and they saw it.

"You expect me to believe that a pair of incompetent human ghost-hating fanatics deliberately created not just one, but _two_ half-breed freaks and then _raised one as their own?_"

"Yes, I do expect you to believe the truth."

Seriously, what was it with everybody doubting me? First Vlad, now Walker. It was actually kind of offensive.

"Oh," he chortled, "I believe the truth, all right. I believe that you invented some crackpot story about stolen blood and secret heritages just so you could become some kind of false prince. Then you could do whatever you wanted, like overthrow _my_ authority in the Barrens!"

"Dude, the world does _not_ revolve around you. Might I recommend seeing a therapist for those delusions of grandeur?"

Walker turned to address our captive audience. "Notice that he's not denying it."

"That's because it's so stupid that it doesn't need to be denied." I folded my arms. "Seriously, I know _exactly_ how insane the story of my birth- the full version is on the website, just so you know- sounds. I almost didn't believe it myself when I first found out. But it _is_ the truth. I'm the son of Natalia Fenton and Pariah Dark."

That was the first time I'd said it aloud. I mean, I had accepted that for a while now, but I'd never actually gotten around to saying it.

"Who's Natalia?" someone muttered. His neighbor shrugged.

"You're under arrest for deceiving your rightful king, overturning the government of the Ghost Zone-"

"You know what, Walker?" I snapped. "I've had a _long_ day, and you're not making it any shorter."

"-slander and libel-"

It was pretty clear that he wasn't listening to me. I was so, so tempted to sic a couple thralls on him- let's see him rationalize _those_ away. Or maybe Ammut. Not many people knew that Ammut was stuffed almost to bursting; Walker would think that I'd summoned her to eat him.

But, entertaining as that would be, memories of Vlad were fresh in my mind. He was a jerk, yes, but Father had offered him the chance for redemption. I strongly suspected that Pariah hadn't gone along for the entertainment value (well, at least not entirely) but to genuinely reform him. I'd had enough petty revenge for the day.

That, and I didn't want to get trampled by a terrified mob.

"-attempting to usurp the new regime-"

With an effort so vast that your puny minds cannot comprehend it, I forced my temper back. "What do you want me to do, Walker, get a paternity test? Swear on the Styx _again_ that he really is my father? Go on one of those awful father-son all-day fishing trips?"

Walker did not seem to appreciate my attempt at humor. That was fine, though, especially since almost everyone else did. Even Bullet, Walker's right-hand goon, was fighting back a chuckle.

"This isn't funny, punk," the warden ranted. "You've easily earned ten thousand years- no, ten thousand _centuries_- just for your stunts today! Like I said, you're under-"

"I believe him," piped up Sidney Poindexter.

Walker and I turned to stare. The sepia ghost turned a darker shade of sepia, his equivalent of a blush. "They kind of look alike, don't you think? And it'd explain why he was so powerful so soon after the accident that gave him- um, supposedly gave him- his abilities."

"I and my lovely wife believe the halfa as well," the Box Ghost declared. He shot me his best Cujo eyes. "Now that we have supported you in front of our peers, will you give our daughter the duchy that is rightfully hers?"

"…Uh…." I cleared my throat. "Like I said earlier, the new regime is still trying to figure itself out-"

"And it won't until you're gone!" Walker bellowed. He grabbed me by the collar. "You're coming with me, punk."

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. "Listen, Walker, I am _not_ in the mood for this."

"Too bad," he hissed.

I sighed. "You guys all see that he started it, right? You see that I'm not being some sadistic evil psychopath by punching his lights out and dragging him off to jail?"

Youngblood's face lit up. "You'll put Walker in jail?" he exclaimed. "Awesome!" He spun to face the rest of the room. "All hail the prince!"

The Barrens ghosts, many of whom had been incarcerated in Walker's not-so-lovely facilities (until I'd destroyed them in a fit of pique. But he deserved it for kidnapping Jazz), grinned evilly. "I can support this new regime," Skulker decided. His arm cannon hummed.

"I feel like now is a good time to mention that we're not going to persecute you for illegally entering the Human World and wreaking havoc on Amity Park if you vow to never do so again."

Skulker's grin widened. "I _really_ like this new regime!"

"Did you hear the last part?" I asked.

Skulker waved a negligent hand. "I'll survive."

"You have no authority to pardon them," Walker snarled. "Now come on, punk. You're coming with me."

"Where to?" I grumbled. "I blew up your jail, remember?"

His eye twitched. "I'll find somewhere."

"How about the Keep?" I suggested sarcastically. "It's ginormous and empty of everyone except three humans, two halfas, a ghost king, and a bunch of thralls. Oh, and the Ancients."

The Ancients were the spirits who had defeated the unholy Pariah-Djall combo the first time around. If they supported him now, it was further proof that he had returned to the side of evil. Name-dropping: works every time.

Walker considered. Then he hissed, "Not buying it."

"The lack of a subject in a sentence is against the rules of proper grammar."

It was pretty obvious to anyone with half a brain that Walker wanted nothing more than to tighten his grip and strangle me. "Listen, pu-"

"No, _you_ listen." I jabbed him in the chest, hard. He released his grip on my collar and took an automatic step back. "Do you have any idea how terrified I was to come here? And while I certainly appreciate your idiocy bringing in some humor to defuse the tension, I really don't like being accused of lying, treachery, and all-around jerkiness. Now I'm going to say this slowly just for your sake, so listen closely: Through a bizarre series of events that you can read about on the website, Danni and I are the biological children of Pariah Dark. We're not lying, we're not part of some stupid conspiracy to take over the universe. We're telling the truth. Comprende?"

"I want to see the proof," Walker growled.

"Website," I grunted. "I wrote this memoir thing about how I found out and, you know, what actually happened in the bizarre series of events."

A smarter person would have looked at the website before doing anything else. A smart person would have searched for plot holes in the story, for things that made it impossible, and then based his case around that. But Walker was not one of those smarter people, so he tried to punch me in the gut.

Operative word: tried. I'd been expecting that, and years of deadly combat had given me excellent reflexes. I dodged. "Okay, now you're just annoying me."

Walker is a powerful figure in his own right, but he's the sadistic administrative type. He wasn't a fighter, not like I was. It only took about thirty seconds for me to neutralize him.

"You want proof, huh?" I asked him. He didn't answer- being bound head to toe in goo made him less than chatty. "Okay, then. I'll give you proof."

A few of the onlookers gulped.

"No!" I yelped. "I'm not going to invite him over or anything. Can anyone here make natural portals?"

"I can!" the Box Ghost volunteered.

"So that's how you keep getting out," I muttered. Then, in a louder voice, I added, "Could you open one to… I don't even care where. Just please not the Keep, because I'm trying _not_ to scare you all out of your skins."

Boxy nodded. A few seconds later, he had torn open a hole in reality.

Walker, several of his goons, several interested onlookers, the Box Ghost, his family, and I filtered through the portal. I looked around. We were in the Barrens. In the distance, I could just barely make out the silhouette of a giant purple football. Near Vlad's portal, then.

But it wasn't a football or artificial portal that I needed. What I needed was land. Sure enough, there was a floating island just hanging out fifty feet from us.

I flew over to the land mass. It was covered in indigo grass. A few flowers had budded amidst the other foliage.

"See this?" I asked, gesturing at the vegetation. "The Ghost Zone started healing itself as soon as Pariah was freed from Djall. Just look around and you'll see that there's more land than there ever was, and that the land is covered in-"

"Get to the point already," Walker snapped.

I grit my teeth. A large part of me was tempted to summon Ammut, but the rest of me realized that was a bad idea. "My point is, Pariah's freedom is responsible for the restoration. The king is one with the land, and all that. The return of the _farr,_ et cetera." I peeled off a glove. "If the king is one with the land, then so is the prince."

I lay my hand on the ground.

It was as though the dirt was alive and hungry. It reached inside of me, stealing all the energy it could. I gave myself over to the onslaught of power, the healing of the kingdom.

The island began to grow. Its edges expanded, as did the indigo carpet of grass. The flowers grew, bloomed.

The torrent of energy slowed to a halt. Panting, I took my hand from the soft ground. The isle had almost doubled in size. A tiny copse of trees grew in its center- still young and weak, but someday they would be strong.

I smiled at the stunned, silent Walker. "Believe me now?"

* * *

><p>Would you want to be Walker right now? No? Me neither. But he deserves this. Oh, and Danny has learned a wonderful lesson from last chapter, so he didn't give into temptation and punch the warden in the face.<p>

One more chapter of reactions, then it's onto the plot. Hopefully.

-Corona


	6. Prince Dipstick

They believed me.

Walker's face turned sickly gray. Bullet and his other goons backed away from their former boss, abandoning him to his fate. They obviously weren't quite as loyal as the Fright Knight.

Undergrowth floated forward, ran his green hand over the new grass. "This is no illusion," he announced. "This is real." He beamed at me. "It is real. It is real!" He laughed with the sheer joy of it. "We're safe! We are _safe!_"

For a moment, the other ghosts were silent. Then Sidney Poindexter called, "Hail!" His thin, reedy voice was joined by a few other voices. I recognized some: Nora, the elderly woman who had become Sanctuary's unofficial landlady; Klemper, who had probably never doubted my sincerity but hadn't been able to articulate his support (he has a speech impediment); the Box Ghost and the Lunch Lady, who were doubtless still hoping that I'd make Box Lunch a grand duchess; Skulker, who had hunted me for years….

It would have been incredible enough if everyone had just shouted "Hail!" once. Heck, it would have been incredible enough if Undergrowth had been the only person happy about my new title. But their reaction was beyond incredible, because everyone was _cheering_ and _shouting_ and _laughing_ with relief and happiness and wonder and hope. They cried out things like "Prince Daniel!" and "Shadow Prince!" (though I had no idea where they'd learned that title) and "Kantara!" and "The Golden Age!" And their cheers were getting louder every minute.

They didn't bow, thank the Ancients- I couldn't have handled that; I was tearing up like an idiot already- but their cheers….

It was one thing to know that the ghosts of the Ghost Zone trusted me. It was one thing to know that they liked me. It was another thing altogether to see irrefutable proof that they were glad I was their prince, that they trusted me enough to forgive me for releasing Pariah Dark.

Either that, or they were really, really, really good actors.

Seeing them beam, hearing them shout, filled me with a mixture of headiness and humility. It's always gratifying to see people happy for you; but it was humbling too, because what if I didn't live up to their expectations? I had zero experience with this royalty thing.

Back at the Keep, Danni glanced up from her computer screen. "Danny?" she exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," my duplicate rasped, wiping tears from his eyes. "I'm more than all right."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," I repeated, grinning. "It's just that- they're taking it a lot better than I expected."

Danni grinned at me. The expression highlighted her resemblance to our father. My sister had obviously inherited his powerful, glowing smile. "Of course they are," she said. "They know you."

"Or they're just super relieved that I'm not going to sic Father on them."

Danni rolled her eyes.

Back by Vlad's portal, my other self grinned idiotically at the adoring crowd. This was wonderful.

The next few hours were, for this duplicate, at least, just as wonderful as the cheering. Everyone wanted to know how this had happened, what my bizarre family situation was like, if I really would make Box Lunch a grand duchess or if I'd just hinted at that to make her parents shut up.

They could have just looked up the answers on the website (well, except the bit about Box Lunch), but they desperately wanted me to explain everything, to hear it from my mouth instead of someplace on the internet. So I had to explain pretty much everything, only leaving out the bit about Dan and another bit about how Clockwork and Jazz's impossible love. Naturally, everyone kept interrupting me with questions or comments or jokes. So much for respect for royalty- not that I minded.

I didn't want them to respect royalty. Well, I did, but I wanted the good kind of respect, not the grovel-at-your-feet-and-hope-you-don't-step-on-me kind. What I'm trying to say is, I didn't want them to treat me any differently than they had before (except when it came to attacks. I'd greatly appreciate it if they didn't attack me anymore).

I told them about my innocent query to Jack and Maddie, about discovering Project A.N.I.E.L., about finally deciphering Clockwork's riddle. When I reached the part about actually jumping into a soul merge, more than a few ghosts asked after my sanity.

"Of course he's nuts," Ember said dismissively before I had a chance to respond. "Why else would he put up with those idiots who raised him? Or the people in Amity Park who still think he's evil? But he's a good kind of crazy, so we're safe."

"Gee, thanks."

"Any time, dipstick."

Several ghosts stiffened up. Ember was one of them. She obviously hadn't remembered that I was the prince of dipsticks, not just an ordinary peasant dipstick, until after the word had escaped her mouth.

They didn't really think that- okay, I had a bit of a history with letting riches go to my head, but I'd been fifteen. I'd learned from the experience, and there was no way I was going to let it happen again.

So I pretended not to notice the slip. "So now I'm crazy and a dipstick? Once again, Ember- _thanks_." Just for good measure, I made a huge show of sticking out my tongue.

Ember met my eyes. She clearly wasn't fooled- she knew that I'd caught her slip. But she also knew that I didn't care, that I wasn't going to have her clapped in irons or whatever for not addressing me by some presumptuous princely title.

I nodded at her, and she relaxed.

By this time, Youngblood had dragged out a computer. He opened to the website (DomoDeMalluma .com, Tucker had named it) and clicked his way to the footage from tonight. "Whoa," he breathed as my unconventional attack played out. "That is so cool."

"It was also painful," I groused. "Longest eleven seconds of my half-life."

Sidney Poindexter thought of something. "Hey. I heard the news about your par- your adoptive parents going to jail. Does that mean they figured it out?"

The room went silent.

I groaned softly. Of course something would go wrong. It just wouldn't be my half-life if something didn't go wrong. "Sort of. It's a complicated story…."

They remained silent as I described Agent L: the sheer menace of the man, the loathing with which he looked at me, how he'd figured out my secret from some very well-hidden clues.

"And this guy is still out there?" Poindexter squeaked. "Why haven't you had Lord Clockwork find him?"

"Number one, Jazz has this theory about him becoming a better person if humans capture him. She thinks that if humans explain to L that he was wrong, then…."

Poindexter was staring at me with an open mouth. I went on to the next reason. "Number two, we want him to make himself look like a complete fruit loop, because that way fewer people will be inclined to sympathize with the Guys in White. Fortunately, dear ol' Agent L doesn't really need help with that. Come on, let me show you his website." I clicked open another tab.

Jazz had put Agent L (and pretty much every human ghost hunter in Amity Park. Valerie was the only exception) in a bit of a bind when she'd tricked them into attacking Danny Fenton, an innocent teenage boy. The Whitecoats needed some kind explanation as to why two of their number had tried to murder a teenager in broad daylight, but they couldn't tell the truth. First off, it would sound crazy. Second, everyone had seen Danny Phantom save Danny Fenton, so obviously we weren't one and the same.

So L, who was pretty much the only hunter to escape, had to find an explanation that painted him and his cronies in a positive light. He had done this by creating a website about how I- Fenton me, that is- am an evil traitor to humanity who has betrayed my own people to help the filthy, filthy evil ghosties of evil. As it is his organization's righteous duty to watch out for apostates such as my monstrous self, his men were totally justified in attacking me in the middle of a restaurant during lunch hour, when dozens of innocent civilians could have been hurt.

Not surprisingly, his site was filled with flamers and trolls, and with people who felt that I was a hero for doing the stuff L accused me of. It was also being used in court to prove that the Guys in White were completely insane- like anyone needed more proof.

That didn't mean that nobody believed him. There are always a couple of crackpots willing to believe whatever they feel like, regardless of how stupid it is. A few of those people had found L's site, and they were trying to convince the courts to let the Whitecoats and Fentons go.

Fortunately, most people recognized the site for what it was: a desperate man's attempt to avoid paying the piper.

Like me, the ghosts of Sanctuary thought that L's site was hilarious- but for an entirely different reason than I did. "This is all true!" squealed Youngblood.

"It is _not,_" I huffed.

"Oh?" He grinned unrepentantly at me. "So you've never stolen your parents'- um, foster parents'- stuff? You've never destroyed it so it wouldn't shoot Phantom? You've never rescued ghosts from being dissected by the Guys in White or the other jumpsuited crackpots?"

"…Good point. But I resent being called a traitor to humanity, because I've saved that world just as often as I saved you guys. And anyways, I'm a halfa." Part of me was tempted to add, "So there," but I managed to restrain myself. "But yeah. That's the story of the past few weeks. Crazier-than-normal Whitecoats, traumatizing revelations, disownments, soul merges, politics, and other wholesome family activities. Just a typical month in the half-life of Danny Phantom."

The ghosts crowded around the computer. By now they had forgotten their fear of me, their anger at my betrayal. In fact, they seemed to have forgotten all about me.

Good. My duplicate back at the Keep was insanely busy. I could use the extra focus I'd gain by remerging with myself.

"Bye, guys," I said, backing away. It's generally considered rude to disintegrate a duplicate where people can see you (unless your real self is also in the room).

"Remember to tell your august and wise father about his first grand duchess!" the Box Ghost cried.

"Yeah, sure." I phased through the wall, rolling my eyes. Then the duplicate melted away into the ether, leaving only one copy of me at Pariah's Keep.

Across the room, Tucker was helping Pariah. Apparently his computer had crashed under the weight of thousands of emails. "This is probably gonna take a while," the techno-geek grumbled.

Pariah nodded, rubbing his good eye. He wasn't used to staring at computer screens for hours on end. "Thank you, Tucker."

Tucker grinned. "Don't thank me," he instructed. "Just remember that you owe me big time. _All _of you owe me big time."

"We're living in his house," Sam pointed out. "Isn't that repayment enough?"

"No. No it is not."

Pariah walked over to his children. "I see that you've returned," he observed. "Tell me, how did it go?"

Most people wouldn't have detected the undercurrent of anxiety in his voice, but I'd spent the past two weeks living with him. I heard it.

"A lot better than I expected," I answered. "Everyone except this one married couple, the Box Ghost and the Lunch Lady, was in shock. Boxy and his bride… remember how I told you about the ghosts who made me their kid's godfather without telling me until the deed was done? That's them. They want me to make their daughter a grand duchess."

Pariah and Danni burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" Sam demanded. She had been watching Tucker tap away at the computer. That sounds like a really boring thing to do, but it really isn't. It's like watching a troupe of ten insanely talented dancers, except the dancers are all attached to the same two hands.

"Boxy and the Lunch Lady," I repeated, then told her and Tucker (who had glanced up from his finger dance to listen) what had happened. Needless to say, they were just as amused as I had been.

Pariah smiled, but there was sorrow in the expression. "If only everyone reacted so well."

"Bad emails?" I asked softly.

He nodded. "Which I expected, of course. I was never fool enough to believe that no one would disapprove of my return. Still, that does not make the experience any easier."

"Tell me about it," I grumbled.

"I've gotten some nasty notes too," Danni confessed. "I'm a traitor to the universe, a power-hungry monster- and that's about the politest thing they've written about me."

"Yeah." I grimaced. Most of my attention had been at Sanctuary, but the duplicate at the Keep had read quite a few unpleasant emails. A lot of nice ones, too- "I'm so relieved that I don't have to worry anymore!" "I'm so glad that you'll be keeping Pariah Dark under control. All hail the prince!"- but that didn't make the nasty ones hurt less.

"They'll come around, though," Danni vowed. She placed a hand on our father's shoulders. "It might take a while, but eventually everyone will have to see that you're the best thing to happen to Kantara since the Golden Age."

"I am well aware of that," he said, but his tone lacked conviction. He was worried, and with good reason.

We simply didn't know.

But Danni wasn't about to give up. "Just ask Clockwork- everything is going to turn out great. He's said so like a zillion times, and he would know. 'Master of All Time' is more than just a fancy-sounding title to brag about at office parties. Not that he attends office parties, but still. You get the point."

As always, my sister's sense of humor brought a tiny smile to our father's face. Score one for Danni.

"We don't even need Clockwork to tell us so, though," Tucker pointed out. "You're, like, the epic righteous ghost king. Of course they'll love you!"

"We should add that to his list of titles," Danni muttered.

"Yeah…." Speaking of titles, there was no way I wasn't giving Tucker one of his own after this. The man's a saint. And since he was still pretty busy with the crashed computer, I figured that I could bring the matter up with Pariah right now. "Hey, can I talk to you for a minute, sir? I could use a break from emails too."

"Of course. Will you be joining us, Danielle?"

"No thanks. I'm tougher than you two, you see."

I stuck my nose in the air. "Right. You just keep telling yourself that." Then, before she could come up with a witty retort, I darted out of the room. He who laughs last, wins.

"Is this about the little girl whose parents are trying to make her a grand duchess?" Pariah asked innocently.

"Uh, no. But don't be surprised if her parents show up sometime in the next day or two with a ten-page petition. What I want to know is, could you make Tucker the Lord Minister of Technology? I realize that that position doesn't exactly exist yet, but you're going to need a bunch of new governmental positions anyways, so you might as well." I fixed him with my best Cujo eyes. "Please?"

He chuckled, all traces of melancholy forgotten. "Of course- assuming that Tucker is willing."

"Oh, he'll be wil-"

A thrall burst out of the wall. "Pardon, Highness, Majesty," it rasped, "but Lady Jazz wishes for you to come at once. It's about Lord Clockwork. He has been wounded."

* * *

><p>"Epic righteous ghost king" comes from a PM conversation I had with Fluehatraya a while back.<p>

Just a warning: updates will be slowing down for a while. I have a ten-page paper, a couple smaller papers, tests, internship paperwork, roommate stuff, editing my real-world book…. Yeah. Lots going on. I'm not going to quit fanfiction, but updates will be slow and sporadic for a while. Just thought you should know.

But oh noes! Clockwork is hurt! Oh noes! *runs around in a panic*

-Corona


	7. Spontaneity

"So your house spontaneously combusted? _Your house spontaneously combusted?_ How does that even work?"

Clockwork's death glare was slightly less powerful than normal, probably due to the gaping hole in his chest. He wasn't injured anymore, of course- he was the Master of All Time, and time healed all wounds- but some things, like the fact that the pendulum and glass in his torso had shattered, couldn't be healed by time alone. So though he wasn't bleeding (which, judging from the stains on his shirt, he'd done quite a lot of) anymore, he still had a huge hollow space where a human's ribcage would be.

It was kind of disturbing to look at, actually.

Even worse, it was obvious that the injury was still paining him. His age-shifting had quickened and warped; he changed from teenager to child to middle-aged man to elder to youth with no rhyme or reason. I'd only seen him like that once before, when we had just finished freeing Father from Djall. I hadn't liked it then, either.

It shouldn't be this way. We were supposed to be safe, happy, triumphant. Now _this_?

"It was not exactly spontaneous combustion, Daniel," Clockwork told me. His voice was tight with strain and pain. At his side, Jazz, who had come running after I sent a thrall to get her and Danni (actually just Danni, but she had come anyways) rested her hand on his. I pretended not to notice.

I'm an experiment who was created with the support of the Guys in White to be their private ectoplasm farm? Okay, I can handle that. My real father is the psychopath who laid waste to the Ghost Zone? Give me a few minutes to laugh hysterically and I'll get over it. My father _isn't _a psychopath but was really forced to do Bad Things by the Bad Guy? Cool! I'm mentally linked to a soul-eating hippo monster, an army of thralls, and the Thirteen Ancients? Okey dokey. Jazz and Clockwork are interested in each other?

…just try not to think about it, Fenton-Phantom.

Clockwork considered for a moment, closed his eyes. When he opened them, he explained, "It has to do with how my powers developed."

I grimaced. Just when I'd thought things couldn't get any more awkward.

It's generally considered rude for ghosts to ask about the development of another's powers. The closest human comparison I can think of is "Hey, stranger, how did you experience puberty?" That's not the best of similes, because ghosts are allowed to bring the subject up of their own volition (humans shouldn't try that with their puberty experiences. Unless they're at the doctor's office, of course. Then go crazy), but it's the closest I can think of.

Still, that didn't mean I was comfortable when Clockwork started talking about his powers' development.

"When I first died, I went completely mad for just over two hundred years."

Why had I thought that this conversation couldn't possibly get worse? Of course things could get worse. Things could always get worse.

"My powers had been thrust upon me suddenly, with no time for me to adjust to them. I was daily bombarded with visions of the past, of the present, of could-have-beens and might-bes. No, don't look at me that way, Jasmine- I can't remember anything from that time other than vague, unpleasant images."

My sister muttered something about 'suppression' but let him carry on.

"Eventually, I gained enough power over myself to go to the Observants. I had seen, in one of those various futures, that they could help me, though I was too inexperienced to see how. They did so by binding away some of my abilities, using them to improve their system of espionage, which is of course a major source of their own power. In return, I would serve them. Of course, now I know how Faustian that bargain was- we had agreed that I would be their slave as long as they held my powers at bay, but I foolishly neglected to add a rather important clause: since I did not explicitly ask for the right to request my abilities back, they took that right away."

I gawked, unable to believe that cynical, clever Clockwork had done something so stupid. But then again, I reminded myself, he _had_ been young and half-crazy at the time. I should probably cut the poor guy some slack.

"Idiotic, I know _now_, but…." He shrugged eloquently. "What's done is done. Even I lack the ability to change my own past. To do so would create a rather nasty temporal paradox that may or may not lead to the implosion of the universe.

"But back to the story. I served the Observants, as you know, remaining faithful to our bargain even though they did not."

Danni, who knew just as well as I did how Clockwork had chafed against his employers, snorted.

Clockwork smiled slightly. "Well, faithful for the most part. But as the centuries progressed, I grew more and more accustomed to them keeping my power at bay. Of course, their ability to bind me was dependent on their own power, which was in turn partially dependent on their ability to observe…."

Pariah was beginning to see where this was going. "It is also partially dependent on the regard their people have for them."

Oh. _Oh._ Yeah, I could see where this was going now, too.

Ghost powers are weird in that they come from a variety of sources. I know a couple of ghosts, Penelope Spectra and one of her friends (the woman never introduced herself before trying to decapitate me, so forgive me for not knowing her name), who feed off emotions. Halfas get their energy from human food, mostly (if only because we spend most of our time in on Earth), though we can also absorb the ambient ectoplasm in the Ghost Zone. I didn't know where other ghosts got their powers from, because that's obviously considered rather private. Telling someone the source of your strength is considered a sign of trust.

After all, whoever knows your strength knows your weakness as well.

It was a mark of how much Pariah and Clockwork disliked the Observants that they would reveal so much about them.

"So when the Observants revealed what they'd done in the war," Jazz concluded, "everyone's regard for them plummeted. That weakened their power, which weakened their hold on _your_ power, which weakened _your_ hold on your power, which overloaded your home's defenses and made it explode."

"That's the gist of it, yes," Clockwork sighed.

"But you're the Master of All Time!" Danni burst out. "Didn't you see this coming?"

He sighed. "As I've told you, the futures have become kaleidoscopic. I knew even without my powers that esteem for the Observants would plummet, thereby weakening my chains, and I planned for that. However, even I underestimated the other manifestations of the Ghost Zone's dislike."

"Which means… what, exactly?" I almost didn't want to know, but knew I had to ask.

"It means that angry mobs are even now destroying the Observants' espionage system. Their strength plummeted more than I had anticipated. I honestly believed that I would have longer before my true potential returned and planned accordingly. But the mobs attacked both sources of the Observants' strength. And you must remember that the power they took from me was invested directly in their espionage system."

My eyes went wide. "So when they blew up the spy stations-"

"-they blew up stuff that was innately connected to the stuff in your tower-"

"-which in turn caused the stuff in your tower to blow up."

"Exactly," he confirmed.

"Oh." I grimaced. "Crap."

Clueless or not, I was smart enough to see the implications of Clockwork's problem. The sudden overload had obviously made his powers go all wonky, which meant that he might have a bit of trouble using them. Obviously not as much trouble as he'd had before the Observants' 'help'- he wasn't a gibbering lunatic, thank the Ancients- but he would probably have enough trouble to make my half-life difficult. I should have known that Murphy's Law wouldn't be so easily thwarted.

"Indeed."

"Are you going to be all right?" Jazz demanded.

His answering smile was warm and… well… loving. My face twitched. "I will be fine, Jazz. It was a bit disorienting to receive my power back so suddenly, but remember, I spent the past few centuries honing my skills. I'm not going to go mad again. My powers are a bit… jumpy, you could say… at the moment, but they'll settle down within the next six days, four hours, and thirty-seven minutes."

"Oh." The tension drained from my sister's frame. "Good. I was worried about you."

Clockwork's smile became even softer. I fought back a whimper. "I know you were."

"Implications!" I yelped, effectively destroying the moment. "What- what are the implications of this? I mean, what does it mean?"

"It means," Danni muttered, so quietly that only I could hear her, "that I'm going to murder you later. Couldn't that have waited until the moment was over?"

"No," I muttered back.

She zapped my leg with a tiny ecto-blast.

Clockwork, fortunately, hadn't noticed our interplay. He had shut his eyes, looking uncharacteristically exhausted. "It means that until my control returns, I risk seeing too much whenever I look into the future. I am not quite blind, but my abilities will be severely hampered for the next six days."

Well, crap. That's what I'd been afraid he'd say.

"Please tell me you're joking," Danni begged. But from the tone of her voice, she obviously realized that no, much as we may wish otherwise, Clockwork was dead serious.

"Well…." I swallowed, trying to look on the bright side. "Normal people do this all the time. Go without their own psychic advisor, I mean. And you said it's only six days, right?"

"Six days and some hours, maximum." He nodded. "Hopefully less."

"Which is good." I nodded firmly.

"How much do you remember about the future?" Danni asked.

Clockwork grimaced. "Enough to realize that quite a bit will happen in these next few days. Attacks, rebellions, imposters… the whole nine yards."

Pariah's face was grim, set. His fists were clenched, his jaw firm. He was every inch the warrior king. "Are you well enough to give a report? The Observants' network might be destroyed, but I have thralls aplenty." One of those thralls aplenty phased through the wall behind him. It was carrying a pen and roll of paper. Not quite as efficient as a tape recorder, but easier to use.

We listened in stunned, frightened (at least in my case) silence as Clockwork listed the attempts he'd seen coming. Five kamikaze attacks, one rebellion attempting to storm the Keep, two more rebellions forming, and a shape-shifting fraud who wanted to take Pariah's form? And even better, these were just the attempts which would take place over the next six days. How many tries would follow them?

Even better, the future was still kaleidoscopic. That meant that these attempts weren't set in stone. They could change times at the drop of a hat. They might not happen at all, but, making up for that, other attempts might happen that Clockwork hadn't seen.

"Rest now," Pariah ordered once Clockwork had finished his litany. The other ghost looked ready to protest, but my father shook his head. "Even you need rest."

Clockwork frowned slightly, but not even he could stand up to the combined glares of my father and sister (the fully human one, I mean. Well, Danni and me too, but I think it was mostly them who made him back down). He nodded. "Very well."

"We _will _be talking about your suppressed memories," Jazz muttered. "But in the meantime…." She flushed.

I made a tiny strangled sound and turned away. "Come on," I ordered, grabbing Danni and Pariah by the arm. "Bye, Clockwork. Sleep tight!"

I fled.

"You made us miss the moment!" Danni wailed.

"That's the _idea._ Am I the only one who thinks it's weird for them to- to- you know?"

"I think it's adorable," Danni sniffed, sticking her nose in the air. "They-"

Pariah cleared his throat. "As both parties involved are responsible adults, I believe that they can be trusted to manage their own relationship. Don't you agree?"

Danni looked disappointed, but I nodded eagerly. "Great idea."

My sister looked ready to say something, but Pariah cut her off. "Forewarned is forearmed. I will be on my guard against the attempts he mentioned. If the attackers cannot catch me off guard, then I will be safe, even without the Crown and Ring."

I hesitated, thinking of the Ring of Rage hidden inside my chest cavity. We'd gotten the idea of where to hide it from Dan, of all people, from the time he'd shoved one of Clockwork's medallions inside me. But this was an entirely different type of intangibility. I wouldn't need a pair of Ghost Gauntlets to take out the Ring. "Are you sure about that? Because Danni and I don't have to keep them."

"It's kind of uncomfortable, having it inside me," Danni admitted. "I mean, it's a Crown of _Fire_ and all. I might be a fire elemental, but it's still weird."

Pariah shook his head. "I vowed not to put on either of my vestments until my people trusted me again. As many of them are currently planning to overthrow me, I do not think that they trust me yet."

"…Yeah, I got that impression myself."

He stared off into the distance, frowning, thoughtful. "So I must now redouble my efforts to regain their trust. That is one of the few true securities possessed by a ruler: if he is loved, the opposition ceases to be valiant freedom fighters and degenerates into rebels. At least in the eyes of the populace, if not in their own."

After a few seconds of thought, I nodded back. That made sense. I only wished I could have seen it right away, but…. He's the king. I'm just a very young, very inexperience prince with a lot of catching up to do. Inter-dimensional politics aren't exactly an elective at Caspar High.

"What about the shape-shifter who's going to impersonate you?" Danni asked.

Inexperienced or not, I could still see the problem with the impersonators. Humans would just establish an alibi- oh, I can't have done this atrocity because, as these eyewitnesses prove, I was in a totally different place when the bad things happened.

Humans couldn't duplicate.

I groaned softly. This could be a problem.

Pariah looked old, then, old and tired. "I do not wish to fight him. I do not wish to fight any of my people. But I will if I must."

I looked at Danni. Danni looked at me. A silent message flew between us: we would do everything in our power to make sure that Father didn't have to fight his own subjects.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm... not quite sure if I like this chapter. It feels kind of forced. But in my defense, I needed a way to take Clockwork's powers out of commission. If the twins et al knew in advance EVERYTHING that was going to happen... well, good for them, bad for an exciting plot. Therefore I needed to take away their forewarning system. So I blew up Clockwork's house. Yeah, that makes PERFECT sense...<p>

On another note, it will be a while before the next update. I'm kind of busy right now and haven't even started chapter 8. The good news is that the next chapter of _Spirited Away_ should be up by Sunday. I hope. I have a final, 2 birthdays, a 6.5-hour drive, a potential job interview, and a graduation party this week. In other words, busy.

Didn't intend for there to be so much Timely Intelligence here. Oh well. Clockwork and Jazz deserve love.

-Corona


	8. Stop the Press

"So." Danni's lips reverted to a thin line the moment she shut her mouth. "There's a bunch of fruit loops who want to frame our father for awful things and/or assassinate him. Clockwork's hurt and going to be that way for a while. Father is going to be busy enough as it is. So. What are we going to do about it?"

"Who was it that suggested that we should send thralls to spy on the assassins?" I asked.

"Pariah," she answered. She leaned back, thinking. "Actually, I wouldn't send them to spy on the rebels. I'd just send them with a message to the leaders asking nicely if they want to address their grievances like responsible adults or if they really want to plunge the Ghost Zone into war again. Freak them out, remind them we have Clockwork and the Observants on our side."

"And make it seem like Clockwork's still at his full power," I added.

She grinned. "We probably don't have to worry as much about the kamikaze attacks- didn't Clockwork say that they failed even in timelines where we weren't forewarned?- but it's better to be safe than to be sorry. Extra thrall guards?"

I nodded. "Paranoia is our friend."

"It's not paranoia when they're really out to get you," she shot back. "Or, in this case, when they're out to get your father."

"Actually, they're probably out to get us, too."

Danni snorted. "Gee, Danny. Thanks."

The four of us were alone in my new room, which I still hadn't gotten around to decorating. I really should have done that before my debut as the Shadow Prince. But I didn't really need anything too complicated, just a desk and bed and a place to keep my clothes. The room might not be fancy, but it was good enough to conspire in.

"Do you think Tucker and I should advertise that we're staying here?" Sam suggested. "Jazz too. Djall wasn't exactly known for being nice to humans."

"Jazz especially," Tucker agreed. "I mean, her parents hunt ghosts- um, hunted ghosts." He gave me an apologetic look.

I grimaced. There was another problem. Good thing I wasn't the one who had to deal with it. "Okay, I guess we can ask her about that."

"People have probably already guessed, though," Danni argued. "I mean, anyone paying any attention to the human world knows that you four are missing. Since Danny is obviously here at the Keep, you guys are too."

"And hiding us makes it look like he's… well… hiding something." Tucker shrugged. "If you can't trust a guy to tell you about his houseguests- if it looks like he's trying to pull the wool over anybody's eyes- then how do you know what else he's hiding?"

I groaned, rubbed my eyes. "Yeah. And we should probably mention that you're getting a title soon, too."

"Huh?"

Crap! I'd completely forgotten that Tucker had no idea he was the Ghost Zone's future Lord Minister of Technology. I turned bright red. "Nothing. Nope. Absolutely nothing. You didn't hear anything."

"…You talked your dad into giving me a title?" Tucker's voice was suspiciously soft, quivery.

"Nice going, Danny," Danni muttered.

I flinched. "It was supposed to be a surprise, and we were obviously going to ask you first, but yeah. How'd you like to be the Lord Minister of Technology?"

Tucker's only answer was a shaky smile.

I grinned, patted him on the back. "And don't say it's just because you're my friend, Tuck. You deserve it and all the perks that come with it. Like all the really pretty ghost girls who'll be _all over_ you."

Sam and Danni snorted, but they were grinning too.

"Yeah. Girls." Tucker swallowed. He regained control of himself with a visible effort and announced, "Let's get back on topic. We were conspiring to preserve the afterlife of the king and kingdom. Any more ideas?"

Sam smiled. "I might have one or two…."

* * *

><p>By the time a news reporter showed up at the Keep, I had almost forgotten that we'd given the media an open invitation to stop by whenever they wanted. Fortunately, Pariah was a great deal less forgetful than I was. He'd had the thralls prepare a banquet- nothing too large, but delicious and fancy, a meal fit for a king. When the newsperson arrived, a fourteenth-century Chinese woman named Lau Qing (or Qing Lau if we used the English word order), she was greeted not by the terrifying monster of myth, but by an amiable, friendly, and courteous king who congratulated her on her courage and invited her to dinner.<p>

Danni and I were summoned; Sam, Tucker, and Jazz were invited to eat with us. Clockwork wasn't even invited- he had to rest, not put on a healthy face for the media.

Ms. Lau's eyes nearly popped out of her head when she saw Sam and Tucker. Humans weren't exactly common in the Ghost Zone. Even worse, they were dressed pretty casually for dinner guests of the High King of All Ghosts. She flinched, half-expecting Pariah to vaporize them then and there.

Instead, Pariah introduced us. "These are my children, Daniel and Danielle Fenton-Phantom, their friend Tucker Foley, and Daniel's girlfriend Samantha Manson."

"For the last time, it's Sam."

Lau covered her eyes. A tiny whimper escaped her throat. She obviously expected my father to destroy her for daring to talk back to him.

My father's eye twitched, but otherwise he ignored her (Lau, not my girlfriend). "All right, Sam. Do you know if Jasmine is coming as well?" To Lau, he added, "Jasmine is Daniel's foster sister."

The reporter peeked. Seeing that no, Sam had not been obliterated, she relaxed a bit.

"Jazz is probably still getting ready," I told him. Meaning that she was making sure Clockwork was resting. She has a bit of an overprotective streak.

Pariah accepted my answer with a nod. "This is Ms. Lau Qing of the Truthful Speaker Press."

We exchanged handshakes, greetings, a couple compliments- all the niceties which society demanded of us. Lau could have been knocked over with a feather, she was so stunned by our behavior. Clearly she'd been expecting something a bit less pleasant.

Jazz came in when the first round of introductions was finished. "Sorry, everyone," she said. "I was a bit busy."

Pariah introduced them. Lau's handshake this time was a bit firmer than it had been before. If she hadn't been vaporized yet, she probably wouldn't be vaporized at all.

Conversation in the appetizer course was light and cheery, just a discussion of the weather. If there's a subject more inoffensive than the weather, no one's discovered it yet. By the end of the first course, Lau was beginning to offer opinions.

Next came the salad (Tucker declined). Lau was definitely settling in; she began to ask questions. Nothing too big, just things like "I'm surprised you're allowing so many humans in your home" and "You're very good with technology, considering your slumber, Majesty." (Actually, those weren't technically questions, but they were said in a questioning tone. That still counts, right?) After the comment about the Forever Sleep, though, she froze up again.

Cue Danny, stage left. "You can thank Tucker for that," I laughed. "And speaking of Tucker…. Father, you know how we were discussing earlier how he should receive a title? I kind of let that plan slip an hour ago." A sheepish grin. "Guess we can't surprise him on his birthday after all."

If Lau hadn't finally been reassured enough to ask questions (real questions, I mean, not just those leading statements she'd been making earlier), we probably would have continued in that vein of conversation until it was all mined out, then searched our impatient brains for another idea. Fortunately, the news that the scary super-powerful High King of the entire Ghost Zone liked a human teenager enough to grant him some kind of title finally convinced Lau that no, this was not an elaborately stage ambush.

Emphasis on the finally.

I mean, I get why she's scared. Djall had made his host into an irrational fear, like claustrophobia or that weird one where you're scared of peanut butter sticking to the top of your mouth. Totally instinctive and unavoidable, no matter how often you tell yourself that peanut butter isn't going to hurt you. It's just very depressing when your father is on the receiving end of that terror.

But now that Lau had finally gotten over her fear, she had slipped right into professional mode. "Congratulations on your impending entitlement, Master Foley. How in the worlds did you manage that so quickly?"

Okay, so she was interrogating Tucker instead of Pariah. But that was still progress, right?

Sure enough, by the time dessert rolled around, Qing and the king were chatting like they did this every day. She'd brought her tape recorder into the open instead of hiding it who-knows-where and even laughed at some of Tucker's corny jokes. She laughed!

I wondered what her studio buddies, who were listening in through the recording device, thought of that. Probably that their coworker had gone over to the Dark side.

Oh, yes, and she'd also secured her next job as Pariah's publicist. Something about how she didn't want to stay with her current studio, which had forced their least favorite employee and scapegoat, to see whether the king was being serious or if he was just luring innocent reporters into his keep to eat them. Or do something equally horrible to them. So yeah, she really didn't want to stay with the people who had tried to throw her to the wolves. Even better, this was a promotion her coworkers had never even dreamed of.

So in a way, she really had gone over to the Dark side.

We would later learn that Lau's studio had sold access to her tape recorder to pretty much every news venue in the Ghost Zone. They listened in on our dinner together. Only after Lau relaxed to the point of gently teasing Pariah to his face did they send their own people over for our first-ever press conference.

A lot of the questions were just variants of "Is it true that [insert here: something we'd already said TWENTY TIMES, why aren't you listening?]" Yes, Djall was real (what did you expect? If Djall wasn't real and we somehow managed to lie after swearing on the Styx, do you honestly think we'd tell some random reporter in a beanie?) Yes, Pariah really intended to take over in a semi-democracy semi-monarchy hybrid government (would you rather have the Observants in charge?) Yes, Danni and I really were royalty (have you people even _looked _at the website we set up FOR THIS EXPRESS PURPOSE?)

You may have gathered that I was slightly frustrated by some of the questions. How Pariah deals with politicians doing essentially the same thing day in and day out I'll never understand. Honestly, would it kill people to listen the first time?

The point was, a lot of the press conference wasn't really a conference, just multiple affirmations that we weren't out to kill anybody. But boring and repetitive as it was, there _were_ a few highlights.

Q: Is it true that you're holding a tourney for the Shade Princess's hand?

Danni: Wait, what?

Pariah: I'm afraid not. Danielle would probably lock me in one of her brother's thermos devices for the rest of eternity if I even thought about it.

Danni: Only probably?

Q: What was it like when you lost your eye?

Me (thinking): Haven't you heard of privacy? (Even I, inexperienced as I was, knew better than to say that aloud)

Pariah: At the time, I was rather glad of it. The loss distracted Djall enough for me to take over our body, summon the Ancients, and command them to lock me away.

Q: What exactly is Ammut the Devourer?

Danni and me: She's a Labradoodle!

Reporters: Huh?

Pariah: It's an inside joke they share with their friends. To answer your question: Ammut is one of a kind.

Q: Are the Observants going to have any role in the new government?

Pariah: They will be kept as an advisory body and as an alternative court for high-level cases that I cannot deal with myself or that I feel they would be better equipped to handle. However, all their legal decisions will go through me before they are enacted.

All in all, the conference lasted five hours. Five long, miserable, boring hours in which absolutely nothing was accomplished. Well, I suppose one thing _did_ get accomplished- we nipped the rumors about the Marry Danni contest in the bud.

But though the press conference wasn't exactly strenuous, it did take its toll. We were all tired when the reporters left for their rooms in the Keep (they had been invited to spend the night, to take tours from thralls, and stuff like that as a gesture of hospitality).

I fell asleep before my head hit the pillow.

* * *

><p>...And now I need to figure out what Sam is planning. I'll come up with something (I KNOW there's an idea floating around in my head), but it's being uncooperative now.<p>

Next chapter: I don't know. Probably Vlad showing up or... something. *sighs* This has been really hard to write lately, but don't worry. It's not going to quit. It'll just be a bit longer between updates... *sighs again*

-Corona


	9. Vlad's Choice

"Highness."

The word fit perfectly into my dream, an odd half-nightmare about that tournament for Danni's hand. Everyone was competing for her: Klemper, Tucker (which I didn't mind. I was still trying to match him with my sister), Cujo (how did a dog get into this kind of thing?), Vortex, an Observant…. The list went on and on. But, terrifyingly, Klemper was winning.

That was why the dream was half-nightmare.

But my point is, the word 'Highness' could easily have come from inside my dream. I had no way of knowing that it came from the waking world. At least not until the thrall saying it poked me in the eye.

"Ow," I whined, flopping over onto my belly.

The thrall poked a bony finger into my back. "Highness, the elder halfa requests your presence." He (I think Tucker named him Ludwig) sounded vaguely displeased about a stranger summoning royalty, but I didn't care.

"Vlad's here?" Pariah had told him to come serve as a courtier, but I hadn't expected him to show up so soon.

"Yes, Highness. He is awaiting you and the Shade Princess in the Cyan Receiving Room."

The receiving rooms, cyan or not, were small, informal chambers used for gatherings of minor political figures for negotiations in a neutral territory. There were quite a few of them. Most were named after their color schemes, but a couple- the one with bonsais and one like the inside of a wooden cabin- were not. Pariah had predicted that people would use the receiving rooms for a long time, until they grew confident enough for more formal settings- and for meetings with the king in those more formal settings.

"Thanks for telling me." I shifted into ghost form. Fenton might not be dressed, but Phantom was. And speaking of last names, I still had to figure out what to do about that….

But one thing at a time, Fenton-Phantom. You signed up for this kind of thing- not with Vlad, but still- when you decided to come clean as the Shadow Prince. Your choice, your responsibility.

That didn't mean I liked waking up at… oh. It was seven-thirty. That press conference must have lasted longer than I'd thought if I was still exhausted at seven-thirty. Halfas, even teenage ones, don't need as much sleep as full-humans.

Part of me wondered if I was supposed to grab something: a staff of office, a circlet, a ring. The rest of me told that part that it was being an idiot. Vlad had seen me battered and bleeding, a snarky teenager without his powers, and both at once.

Besides, I didn't want to scare him away by dressing up like my father's son.

Vlad was also in his ghost form. Plasmius paced up and down the Cyan Receiving Room. His skin was almost the same color as the walls, so only the pale glow around him let me make out his silhouette. But hard as it was to see him, he was clearly worried.

Should I announce you? the thrall asked. I started, shook my head.

"Um… hi, Vlad."

The older halfa nearly jumped out of his skin. "Daniel!" He blanched. "Er- Your Highness." He seemed to wonder if he should bow or not.

"Danny's fine," I mumbled. Awkward, oh this was awkward. And the silence that followed my declaration didn't help.

"Soooo… you're… done in the human world already? That was fast."

Vlad's face darkened. "Not exactly. The Guys in White are claiming that the two agents who shot at you, as well as your paren- ah, foster parents- were overshadowed."

I wasn't particularly impressed. "Really? Good for them."

"They also claim that all of their websites were hacked by a ghost who has been possessing your friend Tucker Foley: the official homepage, the one Agent L just set up, even some of their top-secret databases."

I still wasn't particularly impressed.

"And they have proof."

"Huh?"

"They found evidence that a PDA has hacked into their system six times over the past few years. And then there was footage from a security camera from just over a month ago. Maurice and Lola Foley are up in arms about it, of course, claiming that the Whitecoats forged the footage to save their own sorry behinds, but some of the public is starting to waver."

Crap. Last time we'd broken into the Guys in White database, it had been to find information about my biological father. Had we wiped the security? Ah, crap, I couldn't remember Tucker wiping the security cameras. We really should have known better by now. I guess he was just really, really excited on my behalf- we'd fully expected to find out my father's identity on that day.

Hey. Wait a second…. "But an agent let him do it. Or at least, that's what it looks like on the security cameras. I had him overshadowed."

"The Guys in White claim that they perform blood tests each week to see if an agent was overshadowed."

I snorted. "They don't. I know the layout of their headquarters. They don't have anything resembling a blood lab, and I'd have heard about it if they went to a clinic each week."

"They don't," Vlad confirmed. "But the public doesn't know that. All they know is that the agents produced records of a blood test that showed ectoplasmic contamination." He snorted slightly. "Moreover, they're hinting that the four of you are being held captive by ghosts. You've all been overshadowed repeatedly, you know. Your friend Tucker was a victim of Technus, who used his human flesh as a disguise to penetrate the secrets of the Guys in White and the Fentons."

"…I thought we were in cahoots with the evil ghosties?"

Vlad lifted an imperious hand. "Ah, no. That was the evil ghosties' attempt to mislead everyone by using evil technology powers to create a website under Agent L's name."

"Okay then." I nodded. "Since you're here to warn me, I assume that some people are actually buying this tripe?"

He sighed. "They were once a government agency, you know. I only acquired them a few years ago, long after two half-human infants received the federal government's stamp of approval."

I froze, suddenly very impressed. And not in a good way. "They're blackmailing Washington?"

Vlad seemed rather surprised by how quickly I'd caught on. Well, I've been learning politics from the High King of All Ghosts for the past couple weeks. Of course I know a thing or two. "I have reason to believe that the government had no idea that Project A.N.I.E.L. even existed until L informed them. Washington certainly isn't perfect- no government is- but I can't see anyone there approving of human experimentation."

"But the public doesn't know that."

Once again, surprise flickered across the older halfa's face. "Exactly. A few of the politicians from eighteen years ago are still around, or their children have taken their place. It's easy to threaten them, to hint you have evidence of something shady which they might have been involved in."

"Not to mention that L is terrifying," I muttered. The agent had made even my hair stand on end- and I have superpowers.

My brain whirled. Agents, secrets, blackmail, politics….

The Guys in White had to be shut down. They were irresponsible, throwing bombs into the midst of high school students, shooting at a teenager in the middle of a public restaurant. No, they were worse than irresponsible- they were dangerous to themselves, civilians, and whichever poor ghosts they managed to capture.

Two years ago, when they had finally completed their headquarters, Mr. Lancer and a few other teachers had taken their students for a tour of the building. They hadn't ever done it again.

The tour guide had been very… honest about what the Guys in White would do to any ghost they captured. Two people had thrown up once the tour was finished. Lancer's scalp had been shiny with sweat. Many of the students had been holding hands. For the next few weeks, the psychologist's office had been filled with students seeking help defeating their new nightmares.

Honesty ain't always the best policy.

I shivered slightly. No, the Guys in White had to be put down, not only for what they'd done, but for the sake of my friends. They had lives in the Human World: school and parents and societies, things like that.

But they were blackmailing politicians, people powerful enough to get them acquitted, whispering threats into the right ear. I might be getting better about politics, but most of my knowledge came from Kantara, not America. I wasn't sure if I could navigate America's legal system well enough to condemn them. Probably not. It was too complex, too filled with unknowns.

Yet even the most complicated situations can be resolved if you think outside the box and/or strike from an unexpected source.

Pandora told me a story once about something called the Gordian Knot. I forget how it was made (I think it involved an early Greek king named Gordas or something), but the making didn't matter. What mattered was a prophecy that whoever could unravel the insanely complicated mini-labyrinth would become Lord of Asia. For several hundred years, kings and conquerors tried to untie it. They all failed.

Then Alexander the Great came along. He took one look at the knot, unsheathed his sword, and chopped right through it. Sure enough, he became Lord of Asia in just a few short years.

The moral of the story: sometimes it's best to take the direct approach. And even better, by taking the direct approach, I could test Vlad's loyalty.

"Okay, Vlad," I said slowly, "you're going to be an advisor here, right? So advise away."

He gave me a strange, penetrating stare. Looks like my attempt to act blasé wasn't working. That didn't surprise me. Vlad probably knew full well that I was testing him.

The seconds stretched out, making me wonder if Clockwork had already recovered.

"I own the Guys in White."

"Go on."

Vlad snorted. "You already know what's coming next."

"Humor me."

Plasmius rolled his eyes (or at least I think he did. It's hard to tell when someone's sclera are as red as his pupils and irises). "I know that they never performed blood tests. And I can use my position to force the Head to bring me Agent L."

My jaw sagged. I'd expected the blood tests thing. I hadn't expected the finding L thing.

Vlad smirked. "You might be getting better, little badger, but I have many years of experience on you." He froze, realizing what he'd said to the Shadow Prince, the son and heir of Pariah Dark.

"I'm not a badger," I grumbled, ignoring his sudden fear. By the Five Rivers, would I have to go through this every time someone treated me like they had before? With my luck, yes.

Joy.

The fruit loop hesitated. His head tilted slightly as he wondered if I had really forgiven his lack of courtesy or if I was just pretending, luring him into a trap. I sighed. Honesty ain't always the best policy, but sometimes it's the only thing that can cut a Gordian Knot. "Vlad. I'm not going to bite your head off for treating me like a person instead of a prince."

He nodded, but something told me he was still unconvinced.

I thought of my reaction to him meeting Pariah and winced. Well, maybe he had a reason to disbelieve me. "Yeah. And… about how Danni and I- well, mostly me, because Danni's her own person and I can't speak for her- about how we- I- was kind of nasty on Halloween…. I'm sorry."

Vlad stared at me as though I'd just proposed to him: shocked, disbelieving, confused, and probably wondering if this was a joke.

It wasn't.

A blush rose to my cheeks. Boy, would it ever be awkward to have him live with us.

Vlad blinked twice. "Erm- and I think that my final course of action will be to disband the Guys in White as an actual agency. Even if its members escape jail, they won't have the funding to become a threat again. No one else would even think of hiring them- they don't exactly have the best reputations."

"Gotcha." Like Vlad, I was all business again. "That sounds like it makes sense."

He stood. "Very well, then. With your leave, I'll return to the Mortal Plane and contact the Head. He doesn't have to know I'm betraying their organization until after L is in police custody."

"That sounds like a plan to me."

Vlad didn't bow as he left (for which I was exceedingly grateful. We were awkward enough already). He paused once at the door as though wondering if he should, but eventually crossed the threshold without even looking at me again.

I sighed slightly. What a way to start the day.

If not for the blackmail, I wouldn't have worried so much. But since the Whitecoats _did_ have blackmail on some politicians (I had no idea who but suspected they were rather prominent, otherwise they'd never have dared to attempt this scheme), I probably should worry. Not too much, since the Mansons and especially the Foleys had done a lot to uncover their incompetence and negligence, and the public already knew their reputation (shooting into the midst of high school students does not endear you to a lot of people), but still. It was one more thing on a plate that was already way too full.

And I was still sleepy. I was used to ghosts interrupting my slumber, but that didn't mean I liked it.

Part of me wanted to crawl back into bed, to fall back into dreamland (but hopefully not the dream I'd been having before. That was unpleasant in the extreme), but I didn't let myself. Instead, I went hunting for Ms. Lau. Oops, Qing. She'd given us permission to call her by her first name sometime last night.

The reporter was a great deal more relaxed this morning. Part of this was one-upping her former employers and competitors by getting a promotion from the king himself. Part of it was because I was Danny, not Pariah, and therefore less terrifying.

We exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes: how did you sleep, is there anything I can do to make your room more comfortable, did you want anything special for breakfast? Then I got down to business.

Part of Sam's plan was based on the scheme of Jazz's which had gotten the Whitecoats behind bars. The plan (okay, both the plans, but right now I'm talking about Sam's) required media attention to work.

Qing was a bit skeptical. Sure, we'd been forewarned of this by Lord Clockwork himself, but she wasn't entirely certain if she wanted to get involved. I don't blame her. This plan was a wee bit more dangerous than provoking Guys in White.

But despite her hesitation, Qing was a pretty brave lady. It took guts to face one of the most powerful beings in existence, even if you had been ensured by the Styx itself that he meant no harm. In the end, she agreed.

After that, I hunted down Danni. She and I checked up on Clockwork (he was doing just fine. A bit grumpy, but otherwise fine). By that time, our human guests were awake, so we hunted them down to put the final details on the plan.

Two hours later, when Pariah found us, we had everything ironed out: who, what, where, when, why. Now we just needed to wait.

* * *

><p>Okey dokey. Things are looking up for me (a bit). The writer's block is starting to fade and I've figured out the gist of Sam's plan. Still need to iron out the details, but...<p>

A few people have asked about "Favors for Father." That actually takes place AFTER the main series ends. It's their first Father's Day with Pariah, or 9ish months after they met him. Hope that clears that up.

-Corona


	10. Visitors to the King

"So Vlad was here?" Tucker asked incredulously. "And you two didn't rip each other's faces off?"

"We're not _that_ bad, Tucker."

"I'd have ripped his face off," muttered Danni.

"Which is probably why he asked for Danny, not you," Sam pointed out. "He and Danny have experience… um, coexisting with their hatred… from all those dinners Jack and Maddie invited him to."

"We spent those dinners hurling thinly or not-so-thinly veiled insults at each other," I reminded her.

"I think that if Vlad had the choice between thinly and not-so-thinly veiled insults and having his face ripped off, he'd go with the insults," Sam commented dryly. "Besides, you're the one who's most involved with the Guys in White getting their butts kicked."

"True," I acknowledged. "But like I said, Vlad knew I was testing him. He's smart like that. And I don't think he'll fail this test."

Danni snorted. "You have too much faith in him."

"I never said he'd pass out of altruism," I snapped, getting annoyed. "He has selfish reasons to help us out, too, remember? And by selfish reasons, I mean he doesn't want Pariah- or you, I suppose- to rip his face off. Though he's probably more worried about Pariah, since you have… um… a bit more of a reputation to uphold."

"Trust his selfishness, huh?" Danni repeated. She considered for a second before shrugging. "Why not. I can do that. But I still think you should have sent a thrall to keep an eye on him."

"Why bother? The internet's all over this story."

Good thing I hadn't told Danni about apologizing to Vlad for my behavior the other day. She doesn't particularly like him. She has every reason not to- the fruit loop tried to melt her, for Pete's sake- so I don't blame her, but still. It would be pretty hard for her to help redeem him. She'd probably just make him regress.

Wait. Did this mean I was in charge of Project: Redeem Vlad? Because it looked like I was. Danni wasn't ready to move past her hatred of the man's guts and he was terrified of Pariah, afraid to the point of agreeing to anything he said just to avoid his wrath. I hated him too, but I'd seen the Vlad in the alternate timeline. I knew there was hope.

Crap. It looked like I really was in charge of helping him out. Even more work. And also, I'm turning into Jazz.

…well, no one ever said being a prince would be easy, and I'm used to hard work. This is just a different type, that's all.

"Now that that's settled," Jazz cut in, "what are your plans for the assassination attempts this afternoon?"

Everyone groaned. Sure enough, no fewer than three desperate, ill-thought-out assassination attempts were scheduled for the day. "I think that Pariah wanted to handle them himself," I admitted, much as it galled me. I didn't like standing by while someone else defended himself against hostile ghosts. Years of protecting people will do that to you. Sure, I knew that my father was more than capable of defending himself- he's the most powerful ghost in the known universe- but he didn't want to. And what if he accidentally hurt one of his subjects? He wouldn't use the fact that they'd been trying to assassinate him to justify his response. He'd be miserable. Not to mention what the pundits would do with the injury- they'd use it as proof that he was still rotten to the core, never to be trusted.

Danni gave me a Look. It was clear that her thoughts were traveling the same road.

"Of course," I continued, "that doesn't mean we shouldn't look out for him. We should probably go and grab the assassins before they make their move."

"Bad idea, Danny."

I stared at Jazz in shock. She was kidding, right? Because there was no way she'd just told me that stopping an assassination attempt, much less three of them in one day, was a bad idea.

But she was shaking her head, hair flapping this way and that. "If you attack them before they attack you, _someone_ is going to say that your father's aggressiveness has worn off on you. If Pariah attacks before they attack him, people will say that Djall's influence affected him more than he's letting on, or they'll whisper that he somehow got around his Stygian Vow. The assassins need to show that they're a threat before you sic the thralls or even yourselves on them."

"…I hate it when you're right."

Jazz winced. I winced too, knowing exactly what she was thinking about. "Sometimes, little brother, I hate it too."

"You okay?" Danni asked gently. She rested a hand on our sister's shoulder, blue eyes wide with concern.

"Just being stupid," she sighed. "A reversal of projection, if you will. But I'll be fine." She forced a smile. "I've been keeping a journal to track my psychological healing, and my notes indicate that I'm getting better. But enough about me. The people attempting to murder your father, or whatever the ghost equivalent may be, aren't going to slow down so we can talk about my problems, which you have to admit are a bit inconsequential when compared to the line of assassins you have to put up with."

"Well, I guess," I admitted, "but that doesn't mean your problems aren't important-"

"So like I was saying," she cut in, "you have to let the intruders prove that they're threats before blasting them."

There would be no getting anything out of her now. If this was what she'd had to go through each time she made _me_ open up (and it was), I pitied her more than ever.

"Do you think he knows this?" Tucker wondered. "I think he does, but we should ask, just in case. Danny-with-a-y, you want to get in some thrall control practice?"

"Not really, but I kind of need to." My relative inability to command the thralls had become a running joke inside the castle, just the kind of humor we needed to banish Jazz's sorrow. It wasn't that I couldn't make them do what I wanted, it was just that a lot of the time I needed to phrase my orders better- or, better yet, not to speak my orders out loud at all.

My eyelids closed. I bit my lip and tongue with focus.

"You're trying to summon them silently?" Danni asked, amused. She was quite capable of doing something like that. I was… less so.

What? I've been busy these past few weeks, what with the Guys in White and going through laws and learning politics and rehearsing my speech and…. You know what? You really don't want to hear the entire list, because it's kind of frightening. Suffice to say that I hadn't exactly been slacking around, and learning to command thralls was kind of low on my priority list. In my defense, though, I'd still gotten a lot better at it.

Proof: one thrall (as opposed to the army I'd inadvertently summoned on my first attempt) stepped through the wall. I didn't recognize this one, but that was okay. "Yes, Highness?" The high pitch of the voice told me that this was a female.

"First off, do you have a name yet?"

"The Lord Minister of Technology named me Padma, Highness."

"Huh?" Tucker blinked several times. "That's official?"

"Pardon, Lord. I misspoke- you are the _future_ Lord Minister of Technology, provided that you accept the post upon coming of age."

"Cool." The techno-geek's grin threatened to split his face. "That is so cool. Have I mentioned how cool it is?"

Sam rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Very cool, oh great future Lord Minister of Technology." Turning to Padma, she asked, "Could you go and ask the king how he plans to deal with the assassins this afternoon?"

"I can ask, but unless His Majesty has changed his mind, he will not give me permission to tell you." She vanished. A few seconds later, she reappeared and announced, "King Pariah has not rescinded his earlier order. I and the other thralls are to keep silent. But do not be offended, Lady. Not even Ammut or the royal children are privy to his plans. However, he does request that you visit him posthaste in the Chartreuse Room." She bowed once before disappearing again.

"Wait!" Tucker yelled. "Where's the Chartreuse Room?"

"It should be by Cyan," I muttered. My eyebrows scrunched together. Despite having lived in the castle for weeks, none of us knew how to find each of its hundreds of rooms. "I know how to get to Cyan. Come on."

They came on.

For the first time in centuries, the Keep wasn't almost empty. There were _people _here, not just thralls and Ancients and soul-eating hippo monsters. A photographer snapped pictures of our portraits. She turned aside momentarily, bobbed her head in a quick bow, and turned her camera on us. Its clicking followed us down the hall.

A nobleman, probably an ambassador of some sort, led his servants through the halls. They all bore rather lost expressions. We slowed for a few seconds to ask if they wanted directions. At first, they weren't exactly comfortable with Pariah's children and their human friends, but Jazz put them at ease by grumbling about the many times she's gotten lost here, and this place should really get maps now that it'll be populated again. We sent the ambassador and his retinue off to the suite which his predecessors had used thousands of years ago and continued on our way.

"Dearie!" cried a familiar voice. I froze, jaw sagging. "Where do we hand in petitions?"

Very slowly, I turned to face the voice's owner. Yup, that was the Lunch Lady, all right. She had dressed up in her best clothes, as had her husband beside her and the baby in her arms.

"What kind of petitions?" I managed to ask.

"We have several!" the Box Ghost announced, looking utterly surreal in his blue… that couldn't be a tuxedo. There was no way that the Box Ghost owned a tuxedo. "First and most importantly, we must inform your royal father of our beloved, lovely daughter's claim to a duchy."

I was afraid of that. Beside and behind me, the others hid their sniggers.

"Secondly, my beautiful and talented wife is CLEARLY the only individual skilled enough to work the High King's kitchens!"

"No one else would do it right," she agreed with a sniff. "They wouldn't give you enough MEAT!"

Tucker erupted in a coughing fit. I stepped on his foot. He grabbed my shoulder for support.

"And lastly, I, the almighty Box Ghost, have come to offer my services as guard to the royal body! Surely none will dare to assault him when they must first get through me, the dreaded Box Ghost!"

"Is your friend okay, dearie?" the Lunch Lady asked, pointing at Tucker. Tears were leaking from his eyes, but fortunately he still hid his laughter behind coughs.

"Bathroom," Sam choked. She fled. At the edge of my hearing, I picked up the sound of a woman laughing.

"Tucker's fine," I squeaked. "He just has… um… a cold. Makes him cough at the worst possible moments. So yeah. He's fine." I nodded vigorously.

"Do you know where he is?" the Lunch Lady demanded.

"No," I lied, just as Jazz answered in the affirmative. We exchanged quick glances before I babbled, "Oh, so obviously I don't know, but Jazz does. That's it!"

"Bring us to him!" the Box Ghost yelled. "I, the Box Ghost, command it!"

Poor Jazz looked like a deer in headlights, but she deserved it for spilling the beans like that. "Actually, I was just going to tell the twins that he wanted to talk with them in private. Privately, I mean. Maybe you can speak with him after they're done?"

Sam returned. She was red in the face and looked out of breath, grinning in a most un-Gothic manner. "Oh, please do."

If she wasn't my girlfriend, I'd have stepped on her foot. Traitor.

"So, should we go then?" Jazz's voice was tight with the effort it took to keep from laughing. She clearly wanted nothing more than to collapse into a heap and shriek for the next few hours, but heroically refrained. Therefore, I did not kick her or step on her foot.

"Come on," I mumbled.

"I lead the way, Danny," she said. "Remember, you didn't know he wanted to talk with you in private."

"Oh yeah. Um, where is he?"

"The Chartreuse Room."

"Gotcha. To the Chartreuse Room, then." I nodded a couple times for effect and wandered off in the general direction.

Boxy and his bride had enough sense to stay outside for the duration of our private conversation, which started off when everyone but me and Pariah collapsed into hysterical laughter. My father just stared. "Am I missing something?"

"They're all filthy traitors," I grumbled. "And just so you know, that Box Ghost guy I was telling you about wants to be your bodyguard. He's also trying to get a duchy for his daughter."

"…Well, every court could use a jester, I suppose."

"Yeah. But we didn't come here about that. We were wondering if you had any plans for the assassination attempts this afternoon."

"I do, of course," Pariah replied. His tone implied that I'd just asked a stupid question but that he had forgiven me. "I have everything all planned out. However, the plan is rather delicate, and at times it will look like I will be in danger. Will you give me your word that you will not interfere?"

Jazz's laughter slowed.

I stared at my father in horror. "Wait. You want me to promise to sit by and not do anything while people come at you?"

"Not quite," was his dry response. "I want you to promise to trust me to handle my own safety."

"Well, when you phrase it like _that_…." Had I been thinking, I would have demanded more specifics, but the Box Ghost's presence had scrambled my brain. He's good at doing that. "I promise not to interfere in today's assassination attempts."

Danni, Sam, and Tucker promised likewise (once they'd stopped laughing). Jazz didn't. "With all due respect, Pariah, I don't think I will. I've seen your expression on Danny's face. It always means he's planning to do something stupid."

That was when I realized we had no idea what he was planning. Tucker realized it too. "Um, what exactly _will_ you do?"

He told us, and I found myself wishing that I hadn't been stupid enough to make a promise.

* * *

><p>Another filler with just a bit of humor on the side. Not my best work, but not horrible, either. I hope.<p>

Next chapter: Pariah's idiot stunt, another character shows up, and maybe more hints about my (or Sam's) half-baked idea for a climax. Maybe.

-Corona


	11. Oracle

I adjusted my position (it was _not_ squirming) for the millionth time and reminded myself to murder Pariah when this was over. Never mind that murdering him for putting his afterlife in danger was physically impossible and completely counterproductive, I'd do it. If I could figure out how. If he survived….

Calm down, Fenton-Phantom. He's tough. He'll be fine.

It was funny how much I cared. We'd only really met a month or so ago when we'd freed him from Djall's bondage. I'd spent a lot of time since then in the Human World, not staying here in the Keep like my sister had. Yet here I was, scared sick by the thought of something happening to him. It might just be my hero complex, but I doubted it.

Next to me, Danni fidgeted. She didn't like this either.

It was our second press conference. This one was much more heavily attended- the lack of casualties at our first had been very encouraging. That, and more people had had more time to travel longer distances. Basic math.

Pariah stood. He was almost ready to begin- almost. "Before you ask questions," he announced, "I would like to invite all the assassins in the crowd to do their worst. However, none of the three of you will succeed, and I would greatly appreciate it if we scheduled an appointment to discuss your grievances against me."

Dead silence reigned over the room. Several jaws sagged almost low enough to touch the floor. The press was in shock, not certain if they'd heard him correctly.

Pariah, serene as could be, looked around. His gaze settled one each of the three assassins in turn, three members of the press or friends of members of the press who had completely forgotten that the Master of All Time was on Pariah's side. They really hadn't thought their assassination attempts through if they hadn't remembered Clockwork.

Then the first idiot, a well-dressed man from some major newspaper, blasted his king with everything he had.

The thing with ghosts is that they're never unarmed. Neither are humans, come to think of it- they have fists and teeth and legs, which make great weapons if you know how to use them- but most ghosts come equipped with distance weapons. Ecto-blasts, elemental attacks, my Ghostly Wail…. The list is almost infinite.

Adrenaline flooded my veins. I jerked forward in my seat, a shield sparking on my fingertips. It would be easy to divert the blast, to save my father. Every instinct cried out to do something NOW! It was almost physically painful to keep my promise, to keep the shield from flying out of my hands.

Pariah's own blazing green barrier snapped into place. The attack was absorbed into its smooth surface. The blocks he kept over his ghost powers dropped, filling the room with the sense of his strength. Ghost senses went off, filling the room with multicolored mists.

"Would anyone else like to try?"

The poor assassin sprinted for the door. Pariah let him go- he wasn't a threat anymore. He probably wouldn't stop flying until he arrived in Timbuktu. Or until the thralls caught him, which was likely to come first. Pariah had had a contingent of them waiting outside the door to capture this would-be assassin and anyone else who might take a leaf out of his book. Sure enough, the attacker's yelp of surprise was plainly audible, as were the sounds of a quick defeat. Several of the reporters shivered, eyes wide.

I stared at the other two. They hadn't attacked yet, but that could change at any moment. Ghost senses were still going off. If I was an assassin, I'd use the mist as a cover to take Pariah by surprise. The thought made me even more paranoid than before. My gaze flitted back and forth, back and forth, until it looked like my eyes had a perpetual twitch. Danni was probably doing the same, but I was too preoccupied with the bad guys to check.

"Excellent." He nodded once. "As a statement to the general public, I would like to announce that if any of you are attempted to destroy me, please speak with one of my liaisons to the population to settle our perceived disputes beforehand."

The journalists scribbled that down. The newspeople who relied on cameras nodded. A few were hiding smiles. Now that the shock had worn off, they thought that my father's method of dealing with trouble was kind of funny. I disagreed.

Pariah's gaze softened. The terrible weight of his power vanished, hidden once more behind his mental shields. He wasn't the stern war-king anymore, but a loving ruler, a sad father who had been forced to discipline a beloved but badly-behaved son.

"I truly do understand your fears. I know better than anyone what atrocities Djall committed in my name. I can see why a frightened father, a worried wife, might risk everything to destroy me. That is not to say that they shall understand or that they shall go unpunished. However, the punishment will be light for the next two years. After that, I will assume that anyone attempting to destroy me is doing so for reasons unconnected to Djall and react accordingly. For now, however, I realize that you are merely trying to keep your friends and families safe. A misguided attempt, yes, and one that wounds me, but as understandable as it is pointless." A wry smile. "You must remember that I have Master Clockwork predicting these things for me. He has a vested interest in recreating what you now call the Golden Age."

I smiled myself. Good. Pariah could handle himself against pretty much anything, but flukes happen. It was better if people didn't even bother trying to murder him. If one person, only one, got lucky….

"Now that that is out of the way, I would like to make a few more announcements about the new government…." He carried on about political stuff like elections, laws, bureaucrats and employees he required to keep everything functioning smoothly, and other stuff that is important in the grand scheme of things but kind of boring in a memoir. Not that I was paying much attention to his speech. I kept my narrowed gaze on the other two would-be kingslayers, eyes flitting back and forth. If they so much as sneezed, I would know.

Actually, I _did_ know. One of them really did sneeze. I nearly ecto-blasted her head off. The press gawked at me in mute horror.

Bright red flooded my face. "Sorry. I was just… I'm a bit paranoid after someone trying to off my father and king." I grinned a bit too widely, hoping they wouldn't notice that I hadn't freaked out when anyone else sneezed.

They had, but none of them were rude enough to mention it to my face.

The announcements took up the bulk of the press conference; the Q&A session that followed was relatively brief. That was probably because they weren't just asking for confirmation about anything and everything- obviously they'd read the website. And Pariah had given his little speech beforehand, which probably provided a lot of answers before they were requested. I was a bit surprised by the lack of new questions- shouldn't they have even more queries now that they'd had time to think?- but wasn't about to complain. I had another meeting to take care of before the endless introductions scheduled for that afternoon.

Whenever someone new comes into power, the old elite- the nobility, the wealthy, foreign ambassadors and dignitaries, maybe even monarchs from neighboring states, not to mention a bunch of citizens- swarm the new guy in a frenzied mass of introductions. Pariah Dark, despite being a terrifying legend, was no exception. Dozens if not hundreds of VIPs had already arrived in the Keep, and the royal family was supposed to meet with all of them before the end of the day. It was enough to make me wish I'd stayed plain old Danny Fenton-Phantom, not Danny Fenton-Phantom of the House of Dark.

Hey. "Danny Fenton-Phantom of the House of Dark" has a really nice ring to it, don't you think? I think so too. Note to self: must put that on my paperwork as my official name. This way I get to keep the alliteration of Fenton-Phantom and still include my father's name.

My thoughts continued in that vein as I trotted down the hallways in my human form, waving absently at ambassadors and people like that who had noticed me. They were decent enough to realize that Danni and I were heading somewhere and wouldn't appreciate the interruption. Of course, it helped that we went invisible after the door shut behind us.

"You okay, Danny?" Sam asked as I came into the out-of-the-way room we had commandeered for this meeting and returned to the visible spectrum.

"I'm fine, just frazzled."

"'Frazzled' is one way of putting it," Danni groaned. "Do we have to do that every day?"

"I hope not," I groaned. Even the thought of it was enough to give me a headache.

"It should die down after the first few months," guessed our guest.

I arched a brow at her. "Is that a prophecy or a prediction?"

Clockwork's mother smiled thinly at me. She had a thin, angled face; pretty in a sharp way. Her nose was like a knife, her eyebrows like razor blades. Even her stiff white hair, curled so that its ends touched her shoulders, seemed sharp and prickly. But sharp as she was, she did still sort of resemble her son: their coloring was the same, as were their ears and lips and, to some extent, their powers.

In life, Castalia had been an Oracle of Delphi, a professional prophetess revered throughout the ancient world for the accuracy (if not the clarity) of her predictions. I assumed that her powers had only grown stronger after death, even if they weren't as extensive as Clockwork's. As long as she could see the future well enough to help prevent assassination attempts and keep rebellions from succeeding, I didn't particularly care about the extent of her powers.

"Do you know why you're here?" I asked bluntly. Hours at a press conference had made me less than subtle.

"You want me to use the powers you believe I have to protect your father." Her answer was equally blunt, which suited me just fine. The content of that answer, however, did not suit me at all.

"What do you mean, powers we believe you have?"

"Exactly that." She folded her hands, leaned back in her chair. "When the prophetic urge comes over me, I have no idea what I'm saying. The prophecy spills forth as a riddle. Even seemingly straightforward predictions are filled with twists and turns." She smiled. A hint of cruelty glinted in the corner of her mouth. Her resemblance to Clockwork disappeared. He could be tricky, yes, and ruthless, but not like that. "'If you attack the Persians, Croesus, a mighty empire shall fall.' You know this story, yes, Shadow Prince?"

"It sounds kind of familiar," I admitted, "but no."

"I do," Sam said. "Croesus was king of Libyans. He asked if he should attack the Persians, got that answer, and attacked. The empire that fell was his own."

Castalia nodded. "Exactly. My son has the gift of clear sight. I have the gift of ambiguity, of speaking the truth even when I do not know it. It is his gift you want, not mine." Her eyes glittered as she leaned forward. "And speaking of Cephissus, where is he?"

"Around," was Tucker's lame response.

Castalia snorted. Once again, I remembered how Ammut had described her as a "scary Sees-Lady." I'd thought that Ammut had been exaggerating when she said that, but now I knew she had been understating. Even if Castalia couldn't see the future like Clockwork could, she was still pretty intimidating.

"So!" Danni yelped, apparently as intimidated as I was. "It's always nice to have a second opinion. Do you have any cryptic riddles that we can give as, I dunno, press statements that will convince the assassins and stuff to back off without actually incriminating them?"

The ancient oracle wasn't fooled. A smile twisted her lips, her eyes, her entire face. _I know what you're doing, _she seemed to say, _and I suppose I'll let you get away with it. For now._ "Only this: If you play with fire, you're going to get burned." She bowed slightly, hair obscuring her expression.

Danni's hand twitched to her ribcage. She had hidden the Crown of Fire within her own body, just as I'd hidden the Ring of Rage in mine. Keeping her voice carefully level, she commented, "I see. Is that a warning to us or to our enemies?"

"Both, of course. Whether the player is burned to ashes or merely singed depends on the strength of their will and the strength of their heart."

I really, really wanted to interpret that as "Okay, the bad guys will be burned. You'll be fine- you're the fire they're playing with, being fire elementals with the Crown of Fire as a family heirloom. Don't sweat," but something told me that wasn't what she was saying. Dang. I would have preferred that message.

Not that it really changed anything.

My shoulders squared. "I've been burned before," I shrugged.

"So have I," Danni agreed. Her lips had thinned to an almost-invisible line.

Castalia lifted her gaze, fixed it on us. "Well," she noted after a long moment, "you are brave ones, I'll give you that. What exactly do you have planned?"

I glanced at the others. After a few moments of silent communication, Sam explained, "Pariah's just going to invite assassins to attack him like he did earlier today. You might not have heard about it, but three people were planning to make an attempt on him at this morning's press conference. There's only two assassins left, though." She paused so briefly that it was almost unnoticeable before adding, "At least for the rest of the week."

Until Clockwork got his powers back, she meant. I didn't correct her. If Clockwork hadn't told his mother about what had happened, then we definitely shouldn't.

"He's sent off thralls to a bunch of rebellion leaders informing them that he knows of their plans- of course he does, he's got the Master of All frigging Time on his side- and that they'll lose if they continue on. He thinks that the intimidation, at least, will delay them for a while. You know, long enough to consolidate his position and show people he's not going to eat them."

Something told me that Castalia still wasn't buying it. Fortunately, she was still willing to humor us. Well, mostly. "I see. Please tell my son that he will soon be healed beyond even his wildest expectations."

Okay, maybe she wasn't humoring us.

Red eyes glittered. "As for the rest of you… Shadow Prince, Shade Princess, one true threat remains. Truth is its target, and with the death of truth shall come the demise of the kingdom. Expose the liar, not by tearing away his mask, but by the truth within your own blood and bodies. Then Kantara shall see that Pariah is indeed our king, never to be conquered, and that you are his rightful heirs." Her head tilted back as she considered. A long moment later, she added another prediction to the one she'd already given. "Give life to life givers on the day that your own life is restored by a giver of life, and you will be well rewarded." Castalia shrugged. "And no, I don't know what any of those things mean."

A soft groan escaped my mouth. I liked Clockwork's prophecies a lot better.

* * *

><p>Ah, prophecies. We're really better off without them.<p>

About the names of Castalia and Cephissus: The Oracle of Delphi was, in the ancient world, the most famous and accurate of many, many oracles. Through it flowed the sacred spring Castalia and the sacred river Cephissus (there are other Cephissus Rivers in other parts of Greece, but this sacred river is the only one I really care about). Please note that one of the other Cephissus Rivers had a less-than-pleasant river god. I wasn't aware of his existence when I named Clockwork, so none of his mythology (or the mythology of Chronos, cannibalistic father of the gods, for that matter) has anything to do with our favorite age-shifter.

-Corona


	12. Bad Guys and Otherwise

Castalia trotted out of the room, leaving the rest of us in stupefied silence. We blinked at one another, mouths open, performing some very good imitations of fish out of water.

Tucker was the first to recover. He darted out of the room, caught up with the oracle. "But you've been in this business a long time, right? That means you have experience. Experience means you might actually know what you're talking about even if your gift doesn't exactly tell you."

Castalia continued walking. "Sometimes, yes, I do understand, and I always understand when looking back."

"So _do _you have any ideas?" Danni demanded.

"I have many," she confirmed, "but can't know which is correct."

"Your guesses are better than ours," I admitted.

"And my guesses are inferior to my son's," she shot back. Amusement glittered in those red eyes; she plainly enjoyed being difficult. Clockwork did too, but it was different with him. He never made it sound like I was silly or slow for not understanding the future or interpreting his riddles at the drop of a hat.

Speaking of Clockwork…. "I think you're lost." It wasn't the smoothest changes of subject, but it was definitely necessary. "This leads to the med bay, not the exit. You're trying to go home, right?"

Her pace still didn't slow. "Of course not. I haven't seen my son for… oh, it must have been thirty years now. It is my duty as his mother to visit him in his time of sickness."

My heart sank like a stone. I'd been afraid of this.

"He might not be awake." Danni shared my thoughts about letting Castalia and Clockwork meet.

Castalia turned the corner into the beginning of the medical wing.

Ghosts don't need quite as much medical care as humans- being already dead makes diseases a bit less urgent- but the Keep had been designed with war in mind. If someone attacked it, then Pariah would need a large place for the wounded soldiers to rest and recuperate. Since we hadn't been attacked (well, except for that assassin and Clockwork's tower exploding), the entire wing was empty except for two people. One was the rather grumpy patient, his chest wrapped in bandages and a grumpy expression on his face. The other was my older sister, who was lecturing him on proper recovery and how he was not allowed to strain his powers until he was all better.

"Hello, Cephissus."

Clockwork's expression transformed from grumpy to horrified to neutral in the blink of an eye. "Mother." He inclined his head in greeting. "What brings you here?"

"They did," she replied, jutting a thumb at Danni and me. We shook our heads, waving our hands in a silent protest of innocence. "They invited me to the Keep to prophesy for them. As I was already here, I decided to visit my only child."

"I see." His head tilted to the side. "And what did you predict for them?"

"It isn't important." By this point, Castalia had reached the bedside. She stood there, hands behind her back, rigid and straight. Jazz climbed out of her chair, deferentially deciding that Clockwork's mother had more right to be there. Or maybe she just didn't want to make Castalia angry. The ghost woman accepted the offering, sitting down without a word of thanks.

"Um, actually, it kind of is," Sam corrected. "I think that keeping the kingdom in one piece qualifies as important."

Castalia shrugged. "As is the bond between mother and son."

Clockwork's eyebrows climbed. "…You tried to drown me at birth."

Jazz went stiff. She seemed to regret her decision to offer Castalia the chair.

The oracle sniffed. "My _mother_ tried to drown you at birth. If you remember, I was the one who informed your father of your existence, thereby allowing him to rescue you."

Oh boy. Nothing like a centuries-old family feud to lighten things up. This was exactly what we needed. Not to mention that the stress couldn't be good for Clockwork.

Jazz came to the rescue. "As this is clearly not a neutral environment, could you perhaps delay your discussion until you're in a safe, comfortable place at an agreed-upon time? I've found that impromptu discussions aren't always the most conductive, compared to prearranged meetings, at resolving psychological issues." I've got to hand it to her- she was clearly uncomfortable, but that didn't stop her.

Mother and son weighed her in their identical red gazes, inscrutable. Then Clockwork grinned; his mother actually burst out laughing. Her chuckles took away from her scariness, made her look even more like her son. "I think I like you. Congratulations."

Surprise flitted across Jazz's face, but she recovered almost before I noticed. "Thank you."

Castalia dismissed us all with a wave of her hand. "I wish to speak with my son alone, now."

Clockwork was no longer grinning. "Well, I suppose I'd better get this over with."

"Come now, Cephissus. I won't bite you." (Note that she didn't say "I don't bite," just that she wouldn't bite him.)

None of Clockwork's other guests had moved. We were all waiting, staring at him nervously, silently begging for a cue. Clockwork sighed. "I will be fine. No, really, Jasmine, I will be fine. We have coexisted almost peacefully for quite a while now."

"Thirty years, perhaps?" Sam muttered.

The injured ghost pretended not to hear her. "We will probably be finished shortly."

Dismissed, we slowly walked out of the room, occasionally glancing back to see if Clockwork had changed his mind. He didn't.

"And I thought that your family was messed up," Tucker muttered, elbowing me in the side. Jazz accidentally-on-purpose stepped on his foot. "Ow!"

"This isn't a contest, you know," Sam grumbled. Clearly she shared my older sister's opinion of Tucker's loud mouth. "But speaking of the whatever-their-official-surnames are-"

"I was thinking House of Dark," I interrupted. The others stared. Blushing, I elaborated, "This way Danni and I can keep the names we already have but still honor Pariah. Besides, doesn't 'Danny Fenton-Phantom of the House of Dark' sound a lot cooler than plain old 'Danny Fenton-Phantom-Dark'?"

"Danielle Fenton-Phantom of the House of Dark," Danni mused. She grinned. "I like it."

"Okay." Sam waited another moment to see if she'd be interrupted again. She wasn't. "Now that we've decided on a name, does anyone have any more thoughts about the bad guys after your father?"

"They're not really bad guys," Jazz mused, "or at least not most of them. There are probably a couple of unsavory characters who are just trying to take advantage of the political uncertainty to grab power for themselves, but the vast majority undoubtedly fear a repeat of the War of Power or of the atrocities which preceded it." She tapped a finger to her chin. "Which means that they should be punished pretty gently."

"They are," Danni assured her. "Or at least the only assassin still stupid enough to attack him is."

Jazz's eyes went wide. "You didn't mention there was an actual assassination attempt! I thought that he would convince them not to attack." If she hadn't honestly believed that no one would attack a super-powerful ghost king who was ready for them, she wouldn't have spent the interview keeping Clockwork company. She'd have been in the room with us, ecto-gun cocked and ready.

"It was only one guy," Danni pointed out, making light of the incident.

Jazz closed her eyes. I could practically hear her silently counting to ten. "Danielle, even one murder attempt is bad. It is a cause for concern, not blasé acceptance."

Danni blinked at her. She was used to a half-life of constant danger and threats against her well-being and sometimes forgot that not everyone was as accustomed to mortal peril as she was.

"It's not quite as worrying as Castalia's prophecies, though," Sam declared.

Jazz's face drained of color. "What did she say?" she squeaked.

We told her. We could all remember the oracle's exact words, even her intonation. I don't know if that was part of her powers or just because she'd made a pretty powerful impression on us, but no one who'd met Castalia was going to forget her predictions anytime soon.

"Why couldn't she give us a straight answer?" Jazz groaned.

"I think that's part of the job description."

"No, Danny, it's not. Sure, the Pythia has made some pretty obscure prophecies such as the one that refers to Croesus, but in mythology, she was known to make some much clearer predictions. Troy will not fall unless the weapons of Heracles are brought to the battlefield. Oedipus will murder his father and marry his mother."

"_What?_"

My sister waved a negligent hand at Tucker. "Read Sophocles' works. My point is, the Oracle of Delphi doesn't have to spout nonsense and gibberish. If she feels like it, she can-"

Jazz must have continued speaking, but don't ask me what she said. My attention was stolen by a terrified mental cry of Master-pups! Scary-sees-lady with old-young-injured-Clockwork-friend! as Ammut sprinted down the hallway to bury her face in Danni's stomach.

"Hi, Ammut," said Sam, patting her back. "You any good at interpreting prophecies?"

Master-pups, scary-sees-lady scary. No want scary-sees-lady scaring old-young-injured-Clockwork-friend, but he say no scare scary-sees-lady away. Why not? Ammut not understand why not.

"Filial loyalty," Danni explained, stroking our chimera's scaly head. "Castalia, the scary-sees-lady, is Clockwork's mother."

Ammut's head snapped up. She gawked at my twin in mute astonishment.

"'Scary-sees-lady'?" Tucker quoted.

"Remember how Ammut went to the human world after Pariah got into the soul merge?" I asked. At their nods, I continued, "Well, her first stop was Delphi. She couldn't talk to the oracle directly, but the oracle gave her a prophecy anyways. As to who that oracle was… well, you get three guesses, and the first two don't count."

Tucker whistled. "Small world."

"No kidding. But anyways, that's why Ammut spent so much time away from the Ghost Zone. She knew that the answer to her problem- and Pariah's- would come from the mortal plane. It was dumb luck that she found Danni and me when we came to the Keep."

Sam cleared her throat. "Fascinating as this trip down memory lane is, don't you think we should get back on topic and figure out _how to survive the next few days?_"

I responded with a goofy grin that was sure to drive her nuts. "Actually, I'd be just fine with ambling down memory lane. We could-" A purple death glare cut me off. "-never mind. Let's talk survival."

"Good plan," muttered Tucker.

Ammut help. Tell Ammut what happening so Ammut help?

I told her everything: Clockwork's injuries, his warning about the assassins and rebels (three assassins down, two to go; all four nascent rebellions warned off, including the most dangerous resistance with its shape-shifter), Sam's plan, Castalia's prophecies. "Qing's already agreed to help. She's not the best with a camera, but she can work one well enough to manage. We'd use Tucker, because he's phenomenal with all forms of tech, but Qing's a more neutral party in this whole shindig. She might be our press liaison, but there are probably people who think she was blackmailed into taking the position." Not to mention that Tucker, while he had years of ghost fighting under his belt, was still human. Ghosts are a lot more durable than mortals, not to mention a whole lot more mobile. If things went pear-shaped, I wanted someone who could get out of Dodge before the mushroom cloud reached its zenith.

Ammut considered, head tilting to the side. Plan silly, she finally declared. I no like it.

My jaw sagged. "You're kidding, right?"

No.

"What's she kidding about?" Tucker demanded. I started- it's kind of hard to remember that they can't understand the family pet- before translating. Tucker frowned. "What's wrong with forcing the shape-shifter guy to take a Stygian vow?"

Make him angry from no-trust, no hope for trust. That bad-angry make resentful, make shape-shifter wiggle through loopholes.

"Ammut thinks that the Stygian vow… um, allows no hope for trust to grow?" Danni wasn't quite certain. Neither of us was accustomed to changing Ammut's eclectic 'speech' patterns into something the rest of the world could understand. But the chimera was nodding, so obviously Danni's interpretation was right so far. "That'll make the shape-shifter angry, which will make him more likely to look for ways around the oath."

And Ammut not know why use cameras-of-technology. Styx not need cameras-of-technology.

"We were going to use the cameras so we could distribute the footage to other shape-shifters, discourage them before they did anything stupid."

Oh. That sensy. 

"Sensy?" I repeated.

That make sense, she corrected herself. Her hippo tail twitched. Oops. But still think bad idea.

"Ammut still thinks it's a bad idea," I relayed.

And not scary-sees-lady say bad things happen? That mean bad things happen from plan.

"That's… a very good point," Danni exclaimed.

"_What's_ a very good point?" Sam demanded.

"Ammut thinks that since Castalia predicted some bad things, then the plan you came up with probably isn't gonna fix everything."

"Danni's right. That is a pretty good point. So back to the drawing board?"

"I don't know." A weight settled on my shoulders, pressing them down. "Maybe we should wait and see for the rebels' responses?"

"We could use that time to brainstorm," Jazz decided. "And don't forget, Clockwork's powers will come back in a few days. All we have to do is hold out until then." She smiled encouragingly. "And don't worry. We'll think of something."

"Yeah," I sighed. "I just hope we aren't too late."

* * *

><p>Because everyone knows that hippo monsters are just smart like that, am I right? : )<p>

-Corona


	13. Princely Politics

Two days before Clockwork's powers were scheduled to get less wonky, Vlad showed up again. He seemed a bit more comfortable this time, more confident that I wouldn't murder him for looking at me funny, but he still sent a thrall to find me and me only. It was one thing to deal with the teenager you'd fought dozens of times before. It was another thing entirely to take on his equally powerful but slightly more irate sister (once again, I don't blame Danni for hating Vlad. He tried to use her as the instrument of her own destruction. Then, when that didn't work, he tried to _melt_ her. That's not the kind of thing you forgive easily) or his even more powerful, terrifyingly unknown ghost king father.

I first noticed the thrall a few minutes after it arrived. I was a bit busy at the time trying to memorize fifty million names, faces, titles, and relations ("No, I'm the _duke_ of something-or-other, and the prime minister of Walden is my first cousin's _wife,_ not my cousin."), with the emphasis on trying. I've always been okay with names and faces, but no one can remember dozens of new acquaintances without help. The headache I'd been nursing for the past couple days only made things worse.

Note to self: maybe flashcards would help? I could get pictures of the relevant people and scribble their names and titles on the back. It wouldn't help me keep track of families, but at this point, it'd be better than nothing.

The thrall waited a few minutes more. Finally it decided enough was enough (or maybe it just heeded my silent pleas for rescue) and approached. "Highness, an agent of your will begs your presence in the Cyan Room."

Oh, great, _another_ minor politician with delusions of grandeur. Still, anything was better than this mob, so I leapt on the chance to escape. "I should probably take care of this. See you later, everyone."

One of the politicians, a congresswoman from one of the Ghost Zone's larger countries, winced at my informality. Still, I outranked her, so she didn't protest as I made my escape.

I took my time on the way to the Cyan Room. It wasn't often that I had time alone, and I wanted to savor it while I could. But duty called, and I wasn't really alone with the thrall following me, so I asked, "Can you tell me anything about this 'agent of my will'?" Agent of my will, honestly. Politicians will call themselves anything.

"It is Vladimir Masters-Plasmius, Highness. I do not doubt that you know more of him than I ever could."

"Vlad?" I repeated, quickening my pace. "Did he say why he's here?"

"I am afraid not, Highness."

"That's okay. Thanks for telling me about him, not to mention the rescue. I think you saved my half-life, getting me out of there."

The thrall frowned. "I have no doubt that your Highness would have been quite fine."

"It's a figure of speech," I mumbled, blushing. What was this thrall's name again? My brain was so wiped from the meet-and-greet session that I couldn't remember. All I knew was that it started with an S or maybe a C. Sid, Sylvester, Solomon, Sadie…. "Yeah. Like I said, thank you for telling me."

"You are quite welcome." Since we had arrived at the Cyan Room, the thrall (Cynthia? Sage? Selmer? I couldn't even remember if this one was male or female, and its androgynous voice didn't help) stopped, stood at attention. "Do you desire that I stand guard?"

"That would be great. Thanks again." I pushed open the door.

Plasmius was in his ghost form. He glared at me as I entered, mouth opening to deliver a rebuke. Then he remembered who I was and thought better of it. "I'm here to deliver a progress report," he announced, voice carefully neutral.

"Okay." I flopped into one of the plush chairs. Oh, that felt _so_ good. If Vlad hadn't been right there, I might have fallen asleep. All superheroes are used to hard work, especially if they have to maintain a passing GPA on top of saving the world, but we're not necessarily experienced diplomats. My brain had been wrung dry these past few days. It would be so easy to just sit here, nodding in all the right places as Vlad's words went in one ear and out the other. His news couldn't be that important, right?

No. Bad Danny. You gave him a task, he called for you, you have to listen to him. Sleep later. Right now, you have a job to do.

"Progress report. Right." The long pause between those words and my earlier okay probably made me look like an idiot, but I was past caring. Vlad had seen me at my worst, and it wasn't like he could cause a huge international incident if he felt I didn't respect him enough. "Fire away."

Vlad fired away. "After our earlier meeting, I hunted down a Guy in White who had made bail and therefore possessed his freedom. I told him that I had a plan to prove our innocence and that I wanted to discuss this with the Head and the other remaining top agents. This particular Whitecoat was known to be well-connected, which was why I even knew he existed, so he quickly put me in contact with the Head. He- that is, the Head- and I arranged a meeting. Yesterday, he and the rest of the Guys in White walked into one of my offices- and a police ambush." He grinned, revealing a glint of fang. "It was quite amusing, really, to see their confusion."

I grinned back, wishing I could have seen it.

Vlad's smile faded. "However, one of the agents was a bit more… cautious… than his brethren."

"…Please tell me Agent L didn't get away."

No response.

"Oh, _come on._"

"He managed to set up a one-man counter ambush," the other halfa informed me. "He lagged behind the others, waited outside the building. When the police brought their suspects out, Agent L snapped. He put one of the officers in the hospital before escaping."

I should have stayed with the diplomats. I really should have stayed with the diplomats. Memorizing fifty zillion names really wasn't that bad. "Please tell me you're joking."

"I'm not joking."

"Dang it."

"Indeed."

I buried my face in my hands, exhausted to my bones. It never ends. "Okay. I assume since you haven't said anything about L being captured, then he's still at large?"

"Of course."

"Well, I could always hope," I sighed. I closed my eyes for a moment before meeting Vlad's gaze. "And now he knows that you can't be trusted. On the other hand, he's definitely alone now, and he was in your office within the past day or so, so we have a better handle on where he's at. That means he might get captured soon. Where did you say you met?"

"In one of my offices," he repeated.

"No, I mean which city?"

"Concord Bay," he answered, naming a small town fifteen miles away from Amity Park.

"Okay. That's close to home. He probably won't go to Amity Park, but I'd still like it if you told the angry mobs that the Mansons and Foleys stirred up that L was nearby not that long ago."

Vlad tilted his head at me, expression blank. "He's armed and dangerous, you know."

"Then tell everyone not to go looking for him. Just have them keep their eyes out, and if they see him, they should call 911."

Vlad considered a moment before admitting, "I don't think you'll have to wait long before L shows himself. He was… when he saw that I had betrayed his organization, that the Guys in White were truly doomed, he snapped. He attacked ten armed police officers. Not only did he get away, he put one in the hospital and injured two others. I overheard the officers mention that they'd never seen someone so ferocious."

I gave a most un-princely groan. "You think he's gonna do something insane that will endanger other people."

"I don't think so, Daniel. I know so."

Crappity crappity crap. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say. I can send out a few thralls to help the police search, and if they don't find him in two days, I'll bring him to the police myself."

"Why wait?" Vlad was honestly confused. "Don't you have the Master of All Time in your father's retinue? He could find L in seconds."

I winced at the mention of Clockwork, who was still recovering. He had experienced two uncontrolled visions, a sure sign that his powers were returning, but like I said, those visions were uncontrolled. He assured me and everyone else that he could easily regain control, that his finesse had dramatically improved in the last few hours, but we still worried for him. "Clockwork has… other things on his mind."

Vlad opened his mouth. He was about to speak when he realized that if I wanted him to know, he'd know. "Very well then. I would advise trying to persuade him otherwise, but that is, of course, your choice."

"I guess," I mumbled. "And Vlad? Thanks."

He stiffened, shoulders snapping up, rigid as a board. "You're welcome?" He probably didn't intend for it to sound so questioning, so uncertain, but surprise overwhelmed his reflexive arrogance.

Well, I _was_ the de facto leader of Project: Redeem Vlad. "I mean it. Thank you."

Vlad considered my words for a moment before deciding to ignore them. I had no doubt he'd dissect their every nuance, but he would do that later. Right now, he had a conversation to continue. "About the rest of my punishment: I kept a record of the people from whom I acquired my businesses in a more… clandestine manner. It will be fairly easy to pay most of them, but two have died. Would King Pariah want me to give the money to their human heirs or to track them down here in the Ghost Zone- that is, Kantara- and give them the payment directly?"

The headache I'd been trying not to think about spiked. "Okay, let me think. On the one hand, if they'd kept hold of their businesses, then their heirs would have the cash anyways. On the other, you didn't wrong the heirs, you wronged the businessmen." Crap. How did I become responsible for this? Oh, right- I was the de facto leader of Project: Redeem Vlad. "Um…. If the heirs had inherited the money that their grandpa or whatever should have had, then they wouldn't have gotten all of it. Doesn't the government take a bunch of taxes away from dead people?"

"It does indeed."

"Great. Give the heirs what they'd inherit and the taxes to the actual businessmen- assuming they're ghosts now. They might not be. If that's the case, give the inheritance plus the mortuary tax to the heirs."

Vlad's jaw sagged.

"What?" I demanded defensively, folding my arms.

"Who are you and what have you done with Daniel?"

"I have done nothing with myself except eat and sleep and everything else."

Vlad's mouth closed, lips twitching in a rueful smile. "Never mind. You're Daniel, all right. You've picked up a few tricks here in the Keep, lit- er, Your Highness."

"I can't help it," I admitted. "Pariah's a great teacher without even trying to teach." And without his student (me) knowing he was a student until the test arrived. "I think I actually absorbed that solution through osmosis."

"Highly improbable." Vlad's smile faded as melancholy stole over his face. "But that is not the only reason I am here. I have been attempting to schedule an appointment with your par- with Jack and Maddie- but the schedule I've kept these past few days clashed with jail visiting hours. Will you inform King Pariah that I have every intention of confessing to them? I just haven't had the time."

The headache faded to dullness. "Okay. I'll pass it on."

"Very well, then." Vlad stood. "With your leave."

"Of course."

He turned, headed toward the door. I watched him turn the corner before giving in. Pushing myself to my feet, I hurried after him. "Hey, Plasmius?"

"Yes, Da- Highness?"

"I try not to insist on the Highness thing. As long as you don't call me little badger or anything, you don't have to call me that. The thralls do, but I think they have to."

The moments stretched out, long and awkward. I wanted to fidget, to look away from his eyes, but forced myself to hold my ground. This was important. I'd promised myself that Vlad would get another chance, dang it!

Finally he inclined his head. "Very well then, Daniel." The inclined head bobbed into a nod. Then, perfectly straight, he floated down the hall.

I watched him go with a smile on my face. Politics might suck, but moments like this made me glad to be a prince.

* * *

><p>Weird relationships are weird, but whatever.<p>

-Corona


	14. The Oracle's Warning

Moments like that might make me glad to be a prince, but they didn't last long enough. Ninety-nine percent of princely behavior involves smiling like an idiot, nodding at the appropriate places, and hiding your discomfort. It's really not that different from being a hero- sweat, exhaustion, and frustration followed by a single sweet moment of triumph.

Vlad was gone now, leaving me alone in the Cyan Room. For a second I let myself relax, let my eyes flutter shut and a sigh escape my lips. Maybe I could just stay here. I could revert to my human form, which was dressed in comfy sweats instead of fancy-shmancy court clothing, and just chill for- it wouldn't have to be long, just a few more minutes. No one would know, right?

Wrong. I'd know.

My shoulders slumped as I forced my eyes open. "Back to the fray," I grumbled, ordering my weary body to return to the hall. And if I was a bit slower than normal walking to the diplomats, could you really blame me? The hero business might not pay as well as princely politics, but it was a lot more straightforward.

So when Castalia intercepted me at a corner, I was actually relieved. The former Oracle of Delphi, mother of the mighty and powerful Master of All Time, had a dire prediction for yours truly? Okay. As long as it didn't involve more names, more loose ends, then I was fine with it.

"How much do you care for those who gave you life?" she demanded, blunt as a falling boulder.

My oh-so-eloquent response? "Huh?"

Red eyes narrowed in a glare. "How much do you care for those who gave you life?" she repeated. "And don't make any snarky comments about only having a half-life. How much?"

My exhaustion evaporated. Adrenaline flooded my veins. The fog that had obscured the world, blurring the edges of everything I saw, lifted, granting sharp clarity to my eyes. "Are they in danger?"

"I don't know," she replied. "But I believe so."

I leapt into the air, body leveling out to minimize friction. Politics could wait. I might be a prince, but I was a hero first. I would always be a hero first.

Strong hands gripped my arm, dragged me to the floor. "We should ask my son first," she growled. "He should be able to see this now."

"Right." I returned to the air, zoomed down the halls. Behind us, paintings shook in their frames, pulled forward by the sudden gust of wind.

The castle might be a maze, but I'd dwelt in it long enough to know some of its paths. For instance, the med bay. I'd been there often enough that I could visit it in my sleep.

Castalia didn't appreciate being dragged along, but at least she didn't protest. We could see the door now, just at the end of the hall. It was closed- we didn't want anyone accidentally seeing Clockwork in such a vulnerable state.

I reverted to human form, let my momentum carry me through. Castalia hissed, tried to pull away, but she was too late. And anyways, the pulling away was unnecessary. I could give a ghost's intangibility to Tucker and Sam, so I could grant a human's intangibility to a ghost. She came through the door with me instead of splatting across it.

Clockwork's eyes had been closed, but he opened them when we burst into the room. "Do I want to know?"

Dang it. He didn't know already. That meant that he probably wouldn't know anything else, anything that could help me. Still, probably wasn't definitely, and it wouldn't hurt to take the chance. Well, I hoped it wouldn't hurt to take the chance. "I'm sorry to ask this, but how are your powers coming along?"

"I believe that his adoptive former parents are in danger," Castalia announced, her words blending together with mine. "Have you recovered enough to see if my suspicion is correct?"

Clockwork hissed softly, sat upright in his bed. "Let's find out." His eyes closed again.

I watched him, tense and tight, my thoughts whirring at a million miles an hour. What was taking him so long? Was he still sick, still hurt? Was me asking him to look into the future hurting him? Would his powers work now? Why wasn't he age-shifting? Wasn't that uncomfortable?

Wait. Why _wasn't _he age-shifting? He'd mentioned before that not age-shifting was uncomfortable, and Jazz wasn't here. So it was weird that he was deliberately doing something uncomfortable in a hospital bed.

No, Fenton-Phantom, _focus! _Who cares why he's not age-shifting? You have more important things to worry about, things like why Castalia got so upset and whether or not she's right.

And what you'll do if she really did see something bad happen to Jack and Maddie. And how you'll feel if that something happened and you couldn't stop it.

Clockwork sighed softly, shoulders slumping for a brief moment before he squared them again. "I'm afraid they aren't."

"Her suspicions aren't correct, or your powers aren't strong enough?" I knew the answer, of course, but hope compelled me to ask anyways. I've been wrong before.

Not this time, though. Clockwork sighed. "My powers still aren't restored enough to see anything. I'm sorry, Daniel." I could hear the frustration in his voice, the old bitterness that he was so limited at such a crucial time.

I bit my lip, looked back at Castalia. "Did you see anything more? Clockwork's been talking about how the future's all kaleidoscopic- that's why he was able to lose his powers. The future was so messed up that he couldn't see the people who destroyed- um, manipulated the stuff he needed to stay in control." It was possible that the Oracle knew all about her son's source of control- and his weakness- but I'd seen the relationship between them. It was… stiff. They didn't hate each other, per se, but they didn't exactly like each other either. And Castalia had apparently tried to drown Clockwork at birth (or, as she claimed, her mother had tried it. Whatever. The point is, someone on that side of the family tried to drown Clockwork at birth. Note to self: ask him about that one day). Murder attempts don't really help foster strong, trusting relationships- trust me, I speak from experience.

The Oracle mirrored her son's actions, closing her eyes and becoming very still. Then she mirrored her son's expression. "I'm afraid not, Shadow Prince. However… you remember my other prophecy?"

Clockwork's face drained of color, faded almost to gray. "What other prophecy?" he demanded.

That was right. We'd intended to tell him what his mother had said, but then the whole drowning-at-birth thing got in the way, and then Ammut showed up to help us conspire, and then I got so busy that I'd barely had time to sleep, much less fill Clockwork in. Yeah. In retrospect, I probably should have taken care of that _before_ the universe started blowing up in my face.

Fortunately, I remembered the exact words. It's not every day that a creepy Delphic Oracle gives you a custom-made prophecy of doom and gloom. "'Shadow Prince, Shade Princess, one true threat remains. Truth is its target, and with the death of truth shall come the demise of the kingdom. Expose the liar, not by tearing away his mask, but by the truth within your own blood. Then Kantara shall see that Pariah is indeed our king, never to be conquered, and that you are his rightful heirs.' Then she kind of paused for a minute before adding another line to it. I'm not sure if it's part of the same prophecy or if it's something different, but-"

"Spit it out, Daniel," Clockwork ordered.

"'Give life to life givers on the day that your own life is restored by a giver of life, and you will be well rewarded.'"

Clockwork bit back something less than polite in his native Greek. "The second one says to give life back to those who gave you life- not necessarily your parents by blood, but those who gave you life. Jasmine's parents."

I nodded, completely unsurprised. The fear in my belly swelled again, made my heart pound. "So I should probably go check on them, huh."

"Bring Danielle," Clockwork and Castalia chorused. They started, looked at one another.

"Why Danni?" I demanded. Time was already slipping away, too fast, too fast. Dread twisted my guts, tightened my throat. All my instincts screamed that something was wrong, wrong, wrong!

I told my instincts to shut up. I knew that something was wrong, wrong, wrong; I even had an idea as to what that wrong thing was. The problem was gaining enough information (which meant I had to be calm and not zoom off into the Human World like I wanted to) to make the wrong, wrong, wrong thing right, right, right.

And that meant listening to Clockwork as he explained why I should go get my sister instead of racing towards Amity Park as quickly as half-humanly possible.

"The prophecy was directed towards both of you," Clockwork explained. "If it is meant to be fulfilled today, you should bring her."

"Right." I clapped my hands, sent out a thought. "A thrall's getting her now."

Clockwork gave me an odd look. "Since when could you do that?"

I blinked. He was right. I hadn't been able to do that five minutes ago. I'd needed lots of focus and verbal orders. "Guess worry brings out the best in me." Which probably explained how I managed to finish homework at the last minute instead of just panicking and being unable to complete a single question. Now, if only I could change my message to the thrall….

But whatever I'd done, I was unable to repeat it. I was vaguely aware of the thrall heading for Danielle (which, any other day, would have made me grin at the magnitude of my improvement), but couldn't say anything to it.

"You should probably bring your father as well," Clockwork advised, leaning back against his bed.

I remembered his reaction to Jack and Maddie's actions. When he'd seen them through a servant's eyes, he'd wanted to go off and rip them limb from limb. I'd managed to stop them, but the incident had spooked us both. Who knew what he'd do if he actually saw them, if his powers actually showed him what they'd done to me as a baby? Besides, Danni and I can handle pretty much everything together. Armies, gangs, you name it- we could probably take on one of the Ancients. Not all Thirteen, of course, but even one is considered pretty impressive. "He's busy with king stuff."

"And your sister is busy with princess stuff, and you were busy with prince stuff," Clockwork retorted. Castalia nodded her agreement.

"Yeah, but hero stuff trumps prince and princess stuff every time. It doesn't trump king stuff, especially when the king doing the king stuff is in such a tricky position." I looked at the door. Maybe I could try to meet Danni and the thrall halfway? No, better to make sure I had as much info as possible. And also a Fenton Thermos. A Fenton Thermos or two would be nice. Without thinking, I sent that order to another thrall, then froze as I realized what I'd done. Once was annoying enough, but twice in a row? Really?

Danni entered the room (finally!). I gave her a quick once-over, was relieved to see that she wasn't wearing a dress. "We have to get to Amity Park now, Danielle."

"What-"

"I'll explain on the way, okay? But we have to leave."

Danni's eyes flickered from me to Clockwork to Castalia. "Do you two have anything to add to what Danny has to say?"

"I'm afraid not," the former sighed.

"Only what I've already said," the latter admitted.

"Come on," I snapped, worry making my voice sharp. "We're wasting time." I flew down the hall, using my human blood to phase through the walls. Thank you, Natalia Fenton.

"So what are we doing?" Danni wondered, following me.

I increased my pace. Behind me, she did the same. The wind whistled in our ears, dragged back our hair. I wished I hadn't worn the stupid courtly clothing, wished for my old uniform back. If there was going to be a fight, I wanted every advantage possible. And there was going to be a fight. That was just how the world worked. Murphy's Law: what can go wrong, will go wrong.

…so maybe there really _wasn't _a fight, and Danni and I would look like idiots by showing up in our court clothes with guns blazing. Whatever. I didn't care.

Jack and Maddie Fenton had given me more nightmares than any other human beings. They had threatened me countless times with dissection, pain, being torn apart molecule by molecule. Their inventions have scarred me physically and mentally, even spiritually. They betrayed and disowned me, vowing never to call a half-ghost boy their son.

But they had also raised me. They hadn't destroyed me when the Guys in White recommended my elimination; they'd kept me, raised me as their own. Eventually, they'd grown to love me. A few weeks ago, they hadn't even remembered what I was; when reminded, they called in an old contact to try to help me- to _help _me.

Not that, for these purposes, it mattered what they had done to me. I'd saved Dash often enough, even Vlad, once or twice. I'd made a promise to keep the people of Amity Park safe from ghosts. Jack and Maddie might not be normal citizens of Amity Park, but they still fell under my promise. If they were in danger because of ghosts attacking the Shadow Prince's former parents, then it didn't matter what I felt for them. All that mattered was duty and keeping my promise.

My feelings about them were as tangled as a ball of yarn after Ammut was through with it. They were my former parents, my enemies. They had…. I didn't know, okay?

All I knew was that I'd have gone to their aid even without Castalia's prophecy from the other day.

* * *

><p>*sighs* I know. I know. It's been forever since I updated. And I'm sorry. This has just been really hard to write lately. Other stories are just fine, but not this one. Not this one. I'll try to get the next chapter up ASAP, though, and another chapter of <em>Alphabet Soup.<em> Until then, adios!

-Corona


	15. Into the Fray

The trees had lost all their leaves, leaving them skeletal and grasping. The streets were almost empty, with just a few dingy old cars trudging past. They were dirty, especially in the clouded light that managed to make its way through the layer of cumulonimbi that kept the city in darkness. A few street lamps were already on, even though it was still a long time until sunset.

All in all, it looked exactly like the opening scene of a zombie flick. And zombies were nothing but ghosts who've gone back and overshadowed their own corpses.

"All we're missing is a horror tune," I muttered.

"What?" asked Danni, unable to hear me over the wind in our ears.

"Nothing," I called back. We slowed to a halt above the prison, straining our ears for any hint of an attack. Our ghost senses were at full alert. "Just one of those snarky comments of mine."

"Oh." Danni lost interest. She'd heard enough of my snarky comments to last her a lifetime. "I don't see anything. Do you?"

The sky chose that moment to rip asunder, spilling out the beginning of an army. The soldiers marched in rows of sixteen, guns and swords at their sides, bristling with their combined power. My ghost sense went off in a cerulean plume, nearly blinding me. Apart, these ghosts might be particularly dangerous, but together… together was a whole 'nother story.

"…Actually, sis, I do see something. Lots of somethings, in fact."

"Sometimes, Danny, I hate you."

About a hundred ghosts had exited by now. They separated into a not-living hallway, raised their arms in salute. A tall, imposing man with a single blazing green eye, dressed in spike-covered red armor, wielding an enormous mace, flew through the portal. My ghost sense flared again. This guy was powerful. Very, very powerful. Not quite in the same league as the one he was impersonating, but close enough to fool those who didn't know the man behind his stolen form.

The shape-shifter.

Oh, river of fire. I understood. Ring and Crown, I understood.

Our interference had altered the timeline, had caused the shape-shifter impersonating my father to accelerate his schedule. He knew he had to act fast, before we crushed him like the bug he was. He knew he had to do something horrible right away, to be seen, to nurture the seeds of doubt. So he'd donned the form of Pariah Dark, gathered up his army, and come to Amity Park to murder Jack and Maddie Fenton.

It made sense. Pariah had reason to hate the people who had been responsible for so much of his children's misery. Heck, he'd nearly annihilated them once already, though the Ghost Zone didn't know that. No one would be surprised if the king overstepped his bounds by killing two humans.

Not even me or Danni. This attack, if we hadn't known otherwise, might have instilled doubt in our own minds. We knew that Pariah didn't like the Fentons, knew that he was strong enough to duplicate. Ghosts with that kind of power could twist around alibis, make them irrelevant. So what if he was in one place? Why couldn't a ghost powerful enough be in two, three, even more places at once? If we hadn't known that he would never hurt them…. Yes. In another world, we might have believed this.

The shape-shifter was clever, I'll give him that. But he hadn't counted on the combined powers of Castalia and Clockwork. Which was kind of stupid, really, as everyone knew that the Master of All Time was on our side. But desperation makes people stupid, and this guy must have been desperate.

"Danny, do you remember anything about him?"

"No." I couldn't even remember his name. I'd known it earlier, but the past few days had filled my head with so much new information that a lot of it had leaked out like water through a colander. "I have no idea who this guy is or what he can do besides shape-shift and, apparently, command an army."

Danni indicated her feelings in a brief and unrepeatable word. "I hate it when stuff like this happens."

"Ditto." I started floating forward. "But it _is_ our job to clean stuff like this up, preferably before the stuff goes pear-shaped."

"I hate it when stuff like this goes pear-shaped."

"Me too, which is why we should stop talking and stop the explosion instead." I made an impatient hand gesture. Danni flushed a bit before following me towards the nastily powerful shape-shifter who was impersonating our father.

The resemblance was uncanny (obviously. I mean, this was a shape-shifter. Uncanny resemblance is in the job description). Instead of going with the mixed Pariah-Djall look, which would have made his validity easier to deny, the guy had carefully impersonated my father's new appearance: skin less than corpse-white, no red anywhere in his outfit (according to Danni, not one article of clothing in our father's wardrobe had any hint of red. The color was Djall's favorite, so it brought back bad, bad memories for Pariah), a single green eye complete with pupils and sclera. At first glance- or second, or third, or twelfth- he would have passed, especially if he was only viewed through a camera.

Danni and I flew right up to him, ignoring the army's uneasy shifting. He watched us with an impassive eye. When we were just a few feet away, he spread his arms wide. In a resonant, carrying voice, he proclaimed, "My childr-"

"Save it, bub," Danni ordered, holding up her hand in the classic stop sign. "We all know that you're not the real Pariah Dark, so why don't you resume your natural form and slink back home?"

The army turned to stare, their eyes boring into her. But Danielle, every inch a warrior princess, stood firm. Her foot tapped, her eyes narrowed, her lips pressed together in a scowl.

"I won't transform back because then the resulting tape will be harder to doctor," he replied. His voice had changed, reverting back to its natural timbre. "That, and I have no doubt that the humans are watching." I glanced down. Sure enough, a couple of humans had come out and were staring at us in confusion. One waved. I waved back. Beside me, the impersonator continued, "The brutal murder of Jack and Maddie Fenton by King Pariah Dark ought to create quite a stirring in both realms, don't you think?"

I stopped waving. The fanboy would just have to wait. "It would," I admitted, "_if_ it actually happened. Which it won't."

"Not really," the man admitted, shrugging his massive shoulders, "but they won't know that, now, will they?" His eye glinted with cruelty, with a malice that wouldn't have been out of place in Djall's gaze.

Okay, forget everything I'd said about all these rebels just trying to save the Ghost Zone. That might be true for all the others, but it definitely wasn't for this one. This one was just a jerk.

"Majesty?"

Oh, crud. In all the excitement about Castalia's prophecy and the thralls and Danni and our wild flight to Amity Park, I'd completely forgotten that Vlad was visiting the prison. Crap.

"Yes?" the fake Pariah asked, every inch the regal king. I've got to hand it to him- jerk or not, he was a pretty good actor.

"Knock it off," Danni ordered. She drew herself up, arms folded haughtily, voice filled with command. "And resume your natural form, shape-shifter, or I _will_ use my royal authority against you."

For a moment, I thought that it might actually work. The shape-shifter's form rippled, almost melted. But then he pulled himself together. "Is that any way to speak to your father, Danielle?"

"No, but as you're just some jerk impersonating my father, why shouldn't I?"

Vlad looked from us to the fake Pariah to the very real army. "…I'll just leave you to this, then."

"Go back to the Keep," I ordered. "I'm sure that Father would just _love_ to hear about-"

The imposter jerked his arm in a short, sharp signal. His army flew into formation, aimed guns and ecto-blasts at Vlad. I hissed, instinctively throwing up a shield in front of him. Just in time, too. The blasts and bullets slammed into it just as it appeared, sending shockwaves through the entire green structure.

"I said _go!"_

Danni's Wail pummeled through the army's left flank, tearing apart their weapons and knocking them to the ground. She shut her mouth, began pelting the exposed center of the army with ecto-blasts and shards of ice. I kept my shield up for another moment, just long enough for Vlad to fly out of sight.

In retrospect, what we did that day was really, really stupid. The shape-shifter might have his own army, but so did Danni and I. We could summon thralls just by opening our mouths and calling for assistance. Danni didn't even need to do that much! Looking back, it's obvious that we should have done that- it would have saved us a lot of trouble and a fair amount of blood. Heck, even asking one of the thralls to give the message to our father instead of sending Vlad through the Ghost Zone to the Keep would have been a lot more efficient. But Danni and I were still pretty new at having servants, especially servants who were linked to us, and the battle brought out our old instincts. In all our other fights, we'd been alone except for Sam, Tucker, and sometimes Jazz. We didn't think in terms of summoning backup.

Or at least that's what Jazz says whenever I start moaning about how abysmally stupid we were that day. She's a lot more forgiving of our mistakes than we are.

So, like the idiots (unthinking, reckless, careless, stupid…. I'd keep going, but then Jazz would get mad at me) we are, we rushed in blindly. Fools and angels, you know?

Ecto-blast, ecto-blast, ice spears. My attacks collided with the right flank- or at least the ones who didn't manage to dodge. I could see from the corner of my eye that five or so had gotten away, and the ones who'd been hit were still standing. Dang it.

"I'll take the imposter," Danni yelled. "You get the lackeys."

"Roger!" My body melted, cells multiplying rapidly. I flowed into four new shapes, four duplicates, with a fifth, real self in the center. My duplicates sucked in deep breaths.

"Position five!" yelled one of the enemies. The ghosts stumbled backwards, erecting shields as they congregated in a phalanx formation. My four duplicates turned, focusing a quartet of Ghostly Wails on the shield. It faltered, green and red billowing across its surface, then shattered completely. It really hadn't stood a chance- according to Clockwork, Dan's Ghostly Wail had destroyed the strongest anti-ghost shield in the world. It had taken him (and me, for that matter) more power than he cared to admit, but it had won him entrance to Amity Park.

I like to think that my use of the attack was a bit more justified.

The ghosts' expressions, from what I could see of them through the silver-green sound waves, ranged from shock to disbelief to horror. Then their expressions changed to pain as my attack knocked them backwards, sent them flying.

I turned my four duplicates to the back flank, which was more than a bit nervous. "Drop your weapons," I ordered. "And if anyone's willing to swear an oath to tell the truth- if anyone will promise to tell the Ghost Zone that it's an imposter who tried to kill the Fentons- I'll arrange a full pardon for him. If not- well, consider yourselves accessories for the attempted _murders_ of Jack and Maddie Fenton."

Maybe, I thought, they hadn't known what a jerk their boss was. Maybe they were on our side. And I was right. A lot of them were uncomfortable with the idea of killing someone, anyone, of making world-renowned ghost-haters into ghosts themselves.

A lot of them were not.

The army broke formation, charged at me. A few remained behind, the ones who had taken my offer. Most of them fled backwards, but a couple aimed reluctant ecto-blasts at the backs of their former comrades. They didn't last long, as the remaining soldiers didn't take kindly to their treachery and made short work of them. Still, I was grateful to the ones who stayed, because their interference bought me the time I desperately needed.

Ghosts fight wars differently than humans do. With humans, you don't get a lot of variety: everyone has the same basic physical limitations and capabilities. With ghosts, that is decidedly not the case. Large-scale ghost battles are more like a free-for-all than human wars (not that human wars aren't a free-for-all. It's just that with ghosts, the chaos is more intense). This means that while warring humans are safest in large groups, in organized ranks and big crowds, ghosts do better if they split up, every man for himself.

That, and these guys had seen my Ghostly Wail. Splitting up was _definitely _in their best interests.

I glanced at Danni. She and the imposter were still duking it out, evenly matched. Of _course_ this guy was apparently the most powerful shape-shifter in the worlds. A good fighter, too, really quick and agile. Of _course_ he was. That was just plain typical. Not fun, but not unexpected either.

But I had only a second to see my sister matching him- barely- blow for blow before something hit my shoulder. I turned intangible on instinct, letting the ghost through my shoulder.

Danni was a big girl. She could take care of herself.

And even if she couldn't, I had problems of my own. Namely the large, hostile, and powerful army that was trying to kill me.

Oh, well. Better a large, hostile, and powerful army than politicians.

Fists alight with green fire, I dove into the fray.

* * *

><p>I'm sorry, guys. I tried. It's just that I'm having a lot of trouble writing this. I know where it's going but it's hard to find the inspiration, the mojo. And it doesn't help that the past month has been pretty busy. Still, I'll try to do better this time. Hopefully it'll work.<p>

Merry Christmas, all.

-Corona


	16. Nuclear Danny

Punch. Stab. Chop. Kick. Dodge a blast, which then hit another ghost's head, temporarily knocking her out of the fray. Try to dodge another blast. Almost succeed, but wince as it grazes my arm. I was surrounded by a blur of green and blue and white skin, by ruby and emerald light. Winds whirled around me. The cry of battle pounded in my ears.

I couldn't see Danni, could only hope that she was okay. I doubted that the rest of the army was nice enough to let her take on the shape-shifter singlehandedly. They'd probably massed around her, surrounding her in a cage of ecto-blasts and explosions.

No, no time to think. Just react.

The ghosts were too close for me to duplicate. Any double of mine would be destroyed as quickly as it was formed, a useless waste of energy and concentration. That sucked—I could really use a duplicate or two (or five) right now. Especially since the ghosts' strategy was so sound. They were closing in on me, taking away my maneuverability, pinning me down. It's like what wolves do when they're separating little Bambis from the herd. Divide, surround, and conquer.

Too bad for them that I'm no Bambi. They might be closing in, but I've fought in close quarters before. That, and I had my Wail. I could bark it off in quick little bursts like a dolphin's echolocation without using too much energy. I'd keep my Wail on all the time, but there were too many ghosts. The Wail takes focus to use; if I turned it on one side, everybody else would attack my unprotected back.

Armor of green energy formed around me, protecting my body from the neck down. Only my hands and head were free: my head for visibility and hearing, my hands so I could blast with them.

A ghost grabbed me. I sent a jolt of electricity through his armor. The lightning fried him before continuing onto the two soldiers next to him. Sweet.

But there were still too many. The Wail could take them on, but only if I could cover all three hundred sixty degrees at once. If not, they'd silence my scream for good.

Desperate times call for desperate measures. My brain began whirling. As always, it worked best under pressure, concocting plans and discarding them in mere seconds. Finally I came up with something that might work.

In the immortal words of Julius Caesar, it was time to toss the dice.

The armor around my back bubbled outwards. A duplicate followed close behind, also armored in green. There was a brief moment of vulnerability when my two selves separated for good, which a ghost took advantage of by aiming at the hole in real-me's armor. The shot connected; I staggered. Sticky wetness ran down my spine, penetrating my shirt.

The two Phantoms opened our mouths and screamed.

My/our Wail knocked the baddies backwards. We were back to back, covering each other's weak spots. Our eyes remained open. Armor expanded to cover our hands, leaving only our heads vulnerable.

So of course some jerk decided to drop a boulder on real-me's head.

I tumbled into the ghosts below me, who, rather comically, were not at all prepared for that. That gave my duplicate just enough time to rain fire down on their heads. They winced instinctively at the flames, giving real-me more time to launch an electrical attack.

Something exploded. Had one of my enemies been carrying a bomb? No, the sound wasn't coming from them. It emanated from further below, near… near the prison. Sure enough, I could hear the distinctive sound of collapsing brick.

There were people there! Criminals, yes, but they had nothing to do with Ghost Zone politics. They didn't deserve to have—oh, wait. The ones nearest to the door were taking advantage of the break to try and escape. I just barely had enough time to look down, but my glimpse of the prison yard involved orange-suited figures making a break for it.

Well, at least _someone's _happy with how this day's turned out.

Fortunately none of my enemies took advantage of my momentary distraction. I spun like a dervish, streams of ecto-energy streaming from my hands. My duplicate uncapped his/my Fenton thermos, began sucking in some of the distracted specters. That duplicate split in two; real-me threw my own thermos to the new Danny.

Split as I was into three clones, I dubbed it an acceptable risk to look at Danni. All four of her. She'd apparently managed to duplicate pretty early on, as her clump of ghosts was significantly smaller than mine. Or maybe the ghosts were just more scared of her than me. If they were, I don't blame them. Danni can be pretty scary sometimes.

Or maybe it was because my sister was taking on the most powerful ghost of all, so they didn't feel the need to attack her en masse. One of her duplicates was engaged with the imposter (whose name I still couldn't remember), matching him blow for blow. They were moving so quickly that I could hardly keep up with them, their limbs and attacks blurring into one mass of green and red.

Good. Danni had gotten the imposter to reveal the real color of his ecto-blasts. Pariah's blasts were green. If this guy's were red, then no one would fall for his charade.

I smiled grimly. Good indeed.

The sight of Danni doing so well lent new vigor to my attacks. I'd been tiring before, unaccustomed to fighting hundreds of new ghosts all at once (especially trained soldier ghosts. Most of my usual enemies are individual fighters who rarely teamed up), but not anymore. It wasn't that I hadn't fought armies before, it was just that fighting armies was weird even for me.

But new energy or not, I was beginning to doubt that we could win without damaging most of Amity Park. We'd mostly stayed over the prison, but once reinforcements arrived, the ghosts would scatter. It would be city warfare as Pariah's forces hunted down the rebels, fighting for each street and house. I'd seen a documentary on Stalingrad once; I knew that city warfare was never pretty. Amity Park might lie in ruins by the time all these enemies were captured. We needed a plan, something so stupid it couldn't help but work.

I'm good with that kind of plan.

Real-me shifted my consciousness to the first duplicate. My vision blurred, ears popping they became my primary set. The former first duplicate, now real-me, disengaged from the fray. I flew to meet Danni. My two duplicates, including the former real-me, covered my back with synchronized Wails.

Time to gamble. Again. Fighting hand-to-hand with the imposter hopefully involved enough mental effort on Danni's part that that particular Danni, the one whose hair had been half sliced off and whose forehead was dripping green ichor into her eyes, was my real sister. If not, I would have some explaining to do to everyone involved.

Intangibility covered me like water, like snow. My legs fused together into a tail as I zoomed through my sister, grasping for the one thing that could hopefully scare off all these ghosts.

That, or the effort of using it would kill me.

One gamble, at least, paid off. That was the real Danni whom I'd flown through. The real Danni, the original from which all her duplicates had sprung. The real Danni, who had been hiding the Crown of Fire in her own body.

Clutching the wreath of bright green flames in my left hand, I spun around. My right hand plunged into my own chest. There it was, right next to my heart.

Some of the ghosts had tried to pursue me. They froze in mute horror, eyes bulging out, faces slack. I smiled coldly, slamming the Crown of Fire down onto my head. Green light flared, now tinged with white.

One of the ghosts fainted. Smart ghost.

I brought my right hand out of my chest. It was clenched around the Ring of Rage. The ancient artifact seemed to pulse slightly, as though it had absorbed my heartbeat during its time next to my heart. On my head, the flames surrounding the Crown of Fire crackled noisily, flaring once again. They could sense the presence of the other artifact, the thing that completed its power.

The legends say that only Pariah Dark could control the energies within the Crown and Ring. That was one of the reasons that so few treasure hunters (cough Vlad cough) had tried to open the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep and steal his regalia. Well, that and the whole possibly-releasing-a-homicidal-maniac-who-could-eliminate-you thing. The threat of elimination is a bit of a deterrent on its own, so only the really arrogant (cough Plasmius cough cough cough) would even attempt to open the Sarcophagus. And then there's the whole bit about how difficult it is to open the coffin. Only the Skeleton Key could do so, and finding that is difficult enough on its own.

But that's getting off topic. My point is that Pariah is supposedly the only one who could possibly do what I was trying to do. But when those legends had been written, Pariah hadn't had kids. Children who were born of his stolen blood, blood that was meant to create a weapon to complement the Ring and Crown.

Another ghost fainted. Two fled. The others were frozen in paralyzed horror, not that far from fainting or fleeing themselves.

I put the Ring of Rage onto my left middle finger.

The Crown of Fire flared.

I hadn't been entirely certain if this would work. I might be Pariah's son, his blood, but that didn't necessarily mean that I had what it took to control the immense energies within the Crown/Ring combo. Finding out that I could handle these artifacts was pleasant, a relief, and a bit of a surprise.

The other ghosts, the ones who had been gawking at me as I did what only one other person in the history of Kantara had done, began to back away. I made a little shooing gesture with my left hand, the one with the Ring on it. Was it my imagination, or was the skull on it _grinning?_ And if it was, had it been grinning before?

"Retreat!" one of them shrieked. "Retreat!"

"Good plan," I chuckled.

The power coursing through me demanded an outlet. It felt a bit like taking a Stygian Oath, actually. My skin was too small to contain the vastness inside me, my blood vessels too thin to carry the coursing streams of electric energy. I felt like I'd stuck my hand into an electrical outlet—no, like I had swallowed a nuclear reactor on the verge of meltdown. Powerful, deadly… and much too much.

Ecto-blasts materialized in my hands, blinding white. I thought back to the Fenton battle suit I'd once donned. My blasts had looked like this then, but they had been smaller, dimmer, and the energy inside those attacks hadn't swirled and whirled and twisted. The armor I'd worn against Pariah Dark had nothing on this.

A flick of my wrists, and the ecto-blasts went flying into the still-stunned army. Light and sound and heat exploded, searing my eyeballs, knocking me through the roof of the prison. The Crown of Fire nearly fell off, but something—I could only assume it was the blood bond between us, because it certainly wasn't gravity or friction or anything half so mundane—kept it lodged firmly on my head. I fell, landing against something soft and squishy.

"Hey!"

Soft, squishy, and alive. I froze, feeling exactly like a child with his hand in the forbidden cookie jar.

"Hey," repeated the voice of Jack Fenton.

I pushed myself off him as though he were on fire. "My apologies, citizen!" My own voice was a bit higher in pitch than usual, a bit more nervous. But seriously, can you blame me? Our last conversation had involved blackmail and disownment.

I was way, way too happy to push myself back into the fray.

Many of the ghosts had fled. I didn't blame them. Pariah Dark armed with his regalia was the stuff of nightmares. Never mind that I wasn't Pariah Dark.

I was his son, the guy who had defeated him at fourteen years old. I was scary enough on my own.

Good thing they'd left, too, because the energy coursing through me was beginning to hurt. Swallowing a nuclear reactor isn't exactly fun. Or conductive to one's health or even, well, not exploding when the reactor reaches a critical level and you can't contain it anymore. My body, still too weak to handle this power for prolonged periods of time, ached. Even my hair ached.

My duplicates had vanished. I hadn't noticed. I had more than enough power to bring them back, but that would require too much focus. I needed all the focus I could get just to keep from unleashing enough energy to level Amity Park.

Maybe trying on the Ring and Crown _hadn't _been my brightest idea….

Danni whirled like a dervish, picking off the stragglers, making them regret their attack even more than they already did. Her thermoses swallowed them up.

"Want help?" I called. Ice sprouted from my hands; the cold spears shot towards the fleeing army. I tried to ignore the many ghosts lying stock-still on the ground, their bodies split open, green ichor soaking the sidewalk. Two ecto-blasts had done that to them.

"Sure. Why not? Though you could have waited for an answer, you know.

"Spoilsport." I felt a bit better now that I was using this awful, demanding energy, but it still hurt. I was a flood wall faced with a hurricane. A Category Seven hurricane, enough to make Katrina and Andrew look like summer squalls.

Maybe, since the battle was pretty much done, I should take them off. I'd proved my point. With that in mind, I extracted the Ring from my finger.

That was an even worse idea than putting them on in the first place. Exhaustion slammed into me like a frying pan to the face. I staggered, nearly fell from the sky.

"Danny?" Danni's voice was concerned.

"I'm fine." To distract myself from the sudden letdown, I added, "What happened to the imposter?"

"He went invisible and left, the coward."

"Not quite," hissed the familiar voice of my father. But though the voice was familiar, the tone was not. Pariah never sounded like a trapped animal ready to gnaw off its own leg. "Give me the Crown and Ring."

I turned. Part of my slowness was due to depletion, but most of it could be attributed to dread. I did not like that tone of voice. People only sound like that when they're going to do something desperate and, more often than not, half-crazy.

Sure enough, the imposter was holding two ecto-blasts. One at the throat of Maddie Fenton, one at the throat of her husband Jack.

"I mean it, halfa." His body swirled, the true form trying to break through. Another eye, crimson as a human's blood, had already grown in the once-empty socket. That eye and its counterpart bored into mine. "The Crown and Ring! Even if I cannot use them myself, I can at least prevent that monster you call your sire from keeping them."

"Back away from the humans." My hands lifted in the universal gesture of peace, of pacification.

"Not until you give me the Crown and Ring." His lip had split open. Blood trickled down, covered his teeth.

I looked at Jack and Maddie, at the fear in their eyes, plastered all over their faces. They must be able to feel the chill of the blasts, sense the crackling energy just barely held at bay.

Maddie gulped, swallowed. "I don't know what's going on," she admitted, quivering ever so slightly, "but giving into the demands of someone who threatens his hostages with death is probably a bad idea."

"Probably," Jack agreed.

My mouth dropped open. Huh? What were they doing? Sacrificing themselves for me or for the chance to spite a ghost, a villain, an enemy? But whatever they were doing, they were acting under the assumption that I was considering them, that I wanted them alive badly enough to give into the ghost's demands. They were acting under the assumption that I cared enough about them to want them free.

That I was human at heart. Or (more likely) the lesser of two evils. That was... good to know?

Well, it wasn't like the imposter would be able to use the Crown and Ring, and Father could whup him even without enhancement. I tossed the latter artifact at him. He didn't move his hands as I had hoped he would, instead letting it fall at his feet. "Now the Crown of Fire."

I hated the triumph in his face, in his voice, but what else was I supposed to do? They might not be family anymore. They might hate me. But I'd promised to protect them, and they looked so scared now, and….

…and ice froze the imposter's hands as a burst of fire exploded in his back. He roared, falling forward. The silver light of Danni's Fenton Thermos sucked him in.

I couldn't help but grin. The idiot had forgotten all about my sister. By focusing on me, he'd completely ignored her.

He really should have known better.

I laughed. "Nice going."

She grinned back. The expression might have been gruesome, since her forehead was cut open and her face matted with blood, but she'd inherited Pariah's smile. That smile could cut through the blood and the bruises, the exhaustion weighing down her eyelids. "You can say that again." She stooped, her matted hair covering her face, and picked up the Ring. "Now come on. Let's go—"

Pain exploded along my back. The world began to fade.

Danni yelped.

Poison—no, not poison, a tranquilizer—surged through my veins. It hurt. I turned, wondering which ghost had enough courage to stay behind.

Darkness curdled in the corners of my sight. The last thing I saw was Agent L's cold, cruel, shark-like smile.

* * *

><p>Oh noes! Another cliffie!<p>

...Like last chapter. I...really should stop giving tentative this-chapter-will-be-done-by-then dates. It doesn't seem to be working. *winces* That being said, we're in the last leg. You won't have to put up with my lateness for much longer. Sorry, everyone. It's just that the DP muse is pretty much dead. *sighs again* But I WILL finish this. Promise. It just might take awhile... I really am sorry.

-Corona


	17. Prince of La-la Land

The world hurt.

Well, no surprise there. I had just swallowed a nuclear react—wait a second. Where the heck had I found a nuclear reactor to swallow? And why had I done that? Oh, wait. I'm thinking in metaphor. Or simile. Or some other English thing that I can't remember because I haven't had Lancer teach me anything for… um… a while. So did that mean it was summer vacation? Because that would suck. No one should be in this much pain during summer vacation. It should be illegal. I'd get Pariah to pass a law against it.

Mind firmly made up, I tried to go back to sleep. Key word: _tried._ It wasn't working that well.

"Danny?" Jazz's voice, soft and gentle. "Can you hear me?"

I tried to tell her that yep, I could hear her loud and clear, but once again the key word was tried. I didn't like that word anymore. It just got in the way, you know? Yeah. You know. I managed a little hnrgh sound, but that was about it. Stupid hnrgh sound. Couldn't it tell that I wanted to talk like a coherent, intelligent halfa being? But noooo, it just had to get in my way.

"Shouldn't he be up by now?" Danni. Both my sisters were here! How cool is that? I just hoped there weren't any boys around. Both my sisters are beautiful, and if I really did swallow a nuclear reactor, I'm clearly in no state to chase off their suitors with a stick. Maybe I could threaten to radioactivate them? Except no biting, 'cause then they'd get superpowers. I don't need potential sister-boyfriends with superpowers. Then they'd be able to beat off my stick.

"He did use the Crown and Ring before," Jazz pointed out, reasonable as ever. Jazz is too smart to fall for the boys, right? Right? "That must have made him more vulnerable to the tranquilizer."

Tranquilizer? My fuzzy thoughts latched onto that. What tranquilizer? What happened?

Danni hissed like a wet cat. "I don't like it."

"Me neither."

I didn't think I liked it either. Had they eaten nukes too? I hoped not.

But the pain was starting to go away as everything went all nice and fuzzy. So very nice and fuzzy. Part of me was aware that this lassitude wasn't natural, that it must be the tranquilizer they'd mentioned, but the rest of me didn't care. Warm fuzzies were nice, a lot better than the pain. Besides, Danni and Jazz were tough. They could beat off boys themselves.

My brain faded into something beyond sleep, an utter blackness devoid of dreams. When I sort of came to again, it was to find that the pain was mostly gone, though the confusion remained.

Wait. Confusion remained? Which meant that I'd been confused before. Why had I been confused before? Something about sticks. And Jazz. And Danni. And a tranquilizer? Had someone used stick-based tranquilizers on my sisters? Oh, they'd regret that.

Crap! I just remembered that nukes were involved too. Bad enough that someone had used sticks on my sisters, now the sticks were radioactive? I struggled against the bindings keeping me down but that did me no good.

"Danny!" Jazz. Apparently she hadn't been permanently harmed by the radioactive stick tranqs. Or, if she had been, she was keeping it quiet. Poor Jazzy, trying to be strong for me. I tried to tell her that she didn't have to lie, that it was all going to be okay, but once again that stupid noise came out of my throat again. That was really getting annoying.

"Danny, you've been hit with a tranquilizer," Jazz said. I stopped struggling against my restraints. My muscles wept from exhaustion. "We got most of it out of you, but you're also struggling with exhaustion from using the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage."

"Can he hear you?" Pariah's voice asked.

What was he doing here? Shouldn't he be off with politicians doing political stuff? Probably. Unless he, like Jazz, Danni, and apparently me, had been attacked by the evil stick wielders. I shuddered. Anyone who could take down Pariah Dark with a stick, even a radioactive one, was not someone to be trifled with. But he'd obviously been captured or we wouldn't be here. We'd all have been taken captive and used in the Bad Guy's nefarious stick-based schemes.

"I'm not sure," Jazz admitted. Her hand, warm and gentle, brushed against my forehead. I smiled, lips cracking.

They were scared. That made me sad. Why should they be scared? I was perfectly all right, just a bit tired and trapped under something really really heavy (yet oddly soft and warm and nice). I forced my mouth open, lips cracking even further. "Wazgonon?" The second that the words (okay, word. I was slurring pretty badly) left my mouth, I winced. They'd just explained that. What was I, deaf?

Fortunately, Jazz has always been patient, at least when it comes to me. "There was a fight," she explained. "You had to use the Crown of Fire and Ring of Rage to drive off an army. Then Agent L—you remember him, the scary guy from the Guys in White?—shot you and Danni in the back with some kind of dart."

Danni? My blood ran cold. Enough adrenaline flooded through me that I could open my eyes, even push aside my bindings. Though, as the 'bindings' turned out to be soft blankets, that really wasn't as impressive as it sounded.

But Danni was right there, staring at me with concern in her big blue eyes. "I'm fine," she said, answering my unasked question.

Thank the Ancients. I collapsed back into my soft, warm bed. My vision went blurry. No, no, don't go back to sleep.

"Father saved us," Danni explained.

The confusion was swelling again. Father had saved us? He was the one with the stick? How strange. I didn't remember much, but I was pretty sure he hadn't been there for the fight. Just the Bad Guy. The Bad Guy might have looked like Pariah, but they were two very different….

I fell asleep before I could finish that sentence.

My dreams weren't quite dreams. They were more like impressions of warmth and softness and love, a gentle hand smoothing my hair, a woman's voice murmuring that she was so proud of me. When I woke up, my eyes were brimming with tears.

I kept them closed for about a minute, going over my body to make sure that all limbs were attached. Legs, check. Arms, check. Miscellanea, check. A bit tired and more heavy than usual, but check, check, check.

Someone was holding my right hand. I moved it, pulled it away. For once, I wasn't just trying. I actually succeeded in making my body do something. Yay!

And my head felt a lot better. I could think again. My thoughts were a bit slower than normal, but I had enough presence of mind not to ramble on about sticks and boys and radioactivity. Ugh. Good thing that nobody I knew knew how to read minds, because if they'd looked into mine while I was all loopy…. That would have been _embarrassing. _I made a mental note to never speak of that weirdness ever again.

I knew what had happened, right? Right. Except I didn't. I couldn't remember. Let's see. I'd obviously been hit in the head with something or drugged, so I'd do what I always did when I was hit in the head and/or drugged and couldn't remember what had happened: I thought back to my last coherent memory. Right. I'd been talking with Vlad. Then what?

Then, I remembered, struggling against molasses-slow thoughts, Castalia had rescued me from the big scary politicians.

It was like a dam broke in my mind. I remembered the fight, the Ring and Crown, Agent L, even Jazz and Danni's explanation as to why I wasn't currently L's prisoner undergoing horrible tortures. Which meant that I was back at the Keep.

Home.

A tiny smile creased my face. Home. I liked the sound of that, though I'd like it better if I didn't have to share with everyone and his grandmother. But home was home was home, and this was home.

Okay, maybe my thoughts are still a little bit kooky. But as long as I don't say anything stupid, no one will ever know.

I opened my eyes.

Sam was there, absently stroking my hand. When she saw me, her face split into a grin so large and bright that it should disqualify her from being a Goth. Tucker was sitting across the room, talking quietly with Danni until he heard my question. When he heard me speak, he fell silent. Jazz and Clockwork, who had been engaged in their own conversation, made their way over to my bedside. And my father leaned over me and murmured, "What you did was foolish, reckless, and incredibly brave. I am proud of you, son, but please do not try that again."

"Wasn't planning on it," I retorted. "How long was I out?"

"Not that long," Tucker replied. "Just under a day." He fiddled with his PDA. "Twenty hours, thirty-nine minutes, and forty-two seconds."

"Forty-five seconds," Clockwork corrected, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Tucker sniffed. "Close enough."

"You got your powers back!" I exclaimed, happy that I wasn't the only one to recover. Don't get me wrong, I liked the whole recovering thing, but Clockwork getting better was like icing on the cake.

"In a manner of speaking." The smirk became a genuine smile. "They have changed."

Realization hit. Clockwork wasn't age-shifting anymore. He'd always hated the whole elder-youth-kid transformation, but it caused him physical pain if he suppressed the involuntary transformation for too long. But now he wasn't shifting at all, just floating there in his young man form, except this young man form had legs and the clock in his chest was gone. Or maybe it wasn't—he was wearing a different shirt, one without the cutout that showed off his internal timepiece—so maybe he still had the clock. I doubted it, though.

"Good for you." I grinned at him, thrilled and heartened in equal measure. Things were looking up.

My strength was returning quite rapidly, so I shifted into a more comfortable position. These med wing beds were fairly cozy, but there was a bit of a crick in my back. I cracked it with a satisfying pop.

Tucker winced. "That was gross, Danny."

"Sorry." I really should have known better. Tuck's never been overly fond of that cracking noise. "So what exactly happened while I was in la-la land?"

"What?" Poor Pariah was downright befuddled. La-la land wasn't exactly a euphemism for, well, anything back in his day.

Everyone except him and Clockwork started talking all at once. Unfortunately, they all had different starting points. Jazz started babbling on about "it's all fine, Danny, so you don't have to worry." Tucker took the most logical approach, starting at, "After you fell…." Danielle prefaced her story by pointing out that she'd been unconscious herself at the time, but everybody else told her that this is what happened and, since we're all friends here, she was inclined to believe them. Sam commented that she was kind of surprised at how well everything had turned out, all things considered. At that point, though, I lost my ability to understand what they were saying. Their words just kept tripping over each other.

"Whoa!" I exclaimed, throwing up my hands. "One at a time, guys, really."

The three humans looked at Danni. Now it was her turn to hold up her hands. "Hey, I was unconscious. Father?"

"Perhaps I could be of assistance," Clockwork suggested. If I hadn't known him as well as I did, I would have missed the sheer happiness in his eyes as he reminded us, "Since my powers have returned full force, albeit a bit differently than I am accustomed to, I could easily show the battle from an omniscient point of view. As the cliché goes, pictures are worth a thousand words."

"Don't you need a viewscreen for that, though?"

"I could make do with a computer or even a television screen. Any form of liquid crystal."

Pariah shifted. "I have sent a thrall for the flat screen television."

"Cool," I laughed. "Can we get Surround Sound too?"

"You've recovered all right," Sam grumbled, elbowing me in the ribs.

"Ow!"

She snorted, rolled her eyes. "Knock it off, Danny."

A stray thought crossed my mind. "Hey. Was L captured?"

If Pariah's answering smile was just a little bit feral, I really couldn't blame him. "Of course."

I smiled. "So Sam and Tucker can go back to their parents?"

Tucker's expression said it all. He was plainly fighting back a happy dance. Sam was a bit more subdued, though she couldn't stop her lips from quirking upwards. "Yeah. I 'get' to leave the awesomely spooky ghost castle for a family of morning people. Yippee for me."

"That would be a lot more convincing if you weren't smiling," Jazz chuckled.

"And you can go back to college!"

"After Thanksgiving break is done."

That was right. Thanksgiving was coming up pretty soon. I wondered if it would be appropriate to hold a feast next Thursday. It was technically an American holiday, but… we had a lot to be thankful for.

A _lot_.

Two thralls came in bearing the TV. "Do you need it plugged in?" Pariah asked Clockwork.

"No thank you. It will suffice." He floated over, brushed a hand against the screen. Instantly the TV lit up, showing a scene that made me clench my fists. L was standing triumphant, uncorking a Fenton thermos (probably stolen) and aiming it at my poor unconscious sister. I fought back a growl.

Then Father was there, wroth and mighty, taking L down before the human warrior could blink. Thralls sprang up from the ground, preparing for a fight that never came.

Pariah-in-the-screen stalked up to L, inspected him. He prodded the Whitecoat with the toe of his boot. L didn't move. Satisfied that the human really was out cold, Pariah turned his narrowed green eye to Jack and Maddie Fenton.

My stomach dropped. This… this looked like an uh-oh in the making.

"A pleasure to meet you, Jack Fenton, Maddie Fenton. I am Pariah Dark, Daniel and Danielle's father. We have _much _to discuss."

* * *

><p>I have decided to attempt an updating schedule for the remainder of this fic. Hopefully that will bully me into finishing it in a timely manner. Therefore, I shall endeavor to have the next chapter up 3 weeks for today.<p>

Must...keep...going... Must...pretend...zombie...muse...is...still...alive...

-Corona


	18. Quaff, oh Quaff this (Un)Kind Nepenthe

"…Please tell me I'm hallucinating."

The last traces of delirium evaporated, banished by the terrifying image of my birth father and foster parents just standing there looking at one another with expressions worth a thousand pictures, a million words. Hopefully my loopiness had been replaced by another, much less pleasant form of drug-induced insanity. Hopefully I'd just gone nuts, because there was _no way_ that Pariah Dark and the Fentons could go over well.

Jazz patted my shoulder. "Sorry, little brother."

If Pariah hadn't been there, I'd have covered my face with my hands and let loose a low moan. Then I'd have plugged my ears, eyes squeezed shut, done everything in my power to not look at or hear the scene playing out on Clockwork's improvised screen. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, as I probably should know about this), Pariah was there. No ostrich behavior for Danny; I had to keep my head out of the sand.

I have never envied those giant birds quite so much as I did in that moment. Ignorance really is bliss, you know? But now that I knew my father and the Fentons had met, I should probably see how the meeting had gone. It couldn't possibly be worse than the nightmarish scenarios running through my mind.

At least, I hoped not. Because the things I was thinking of were pretty hard to beat.

No, no. This is Pariah we're talking about, not Djall. Pariah is not a homicidal maniac, just a potentially homicidal father who really, really doesn't like people touching his son. That's better than a maniac, right? Right?

Jazz nudged me. I snapped out of my thoughts, returned my attention to the screen.

Screen-Pariah and the Fentons were still just staring at each other. My father had his arms crossed, his brow lifted. _Go on,_ he seemed to say. _Start talking._

"…I thought their father was a puddle of goop."

My jaw sagged. Had Jack really said that to Pariah's face? Oh, crap, he really had said that to Pariah's face. Forget Pariah being a puddle of goop; that would be Jack's fate if a miracle didn't happen!

But other than a slight twitch in his jaw, Pariah remained calm, unmoved. "I assure you I am not," he said coldly. In the background, a group of thralls started hauling Danni and me off into a portal. Good idea. We'd been bleeding pretty heavily after the big battle.

Jack was still in one piece, which he seemed to take as an invitation to push his luck. "Agent L told us that they found the blood samples in a big puddle of goop." He shrugged, almost embarrassed. "I figured, ghosts have taken weirder forms. Like that plant thing from a few years back. And goop ghosts are pretty common, actually. I thought…." He trailed off. Despite his bulk, he suddenly looked small, childish, a little boy caught breaking a vase. "It was my fault. Maddie didn't want to, and she didn't know about everything. I, I made her do it."

"No!" Maddie yelped. She grabbed her husband's hand, squeezed it tight. "It's the other way around. I made Jack do it. He's innocent!"

Pariah cocked his head, remained silent.

"No, no." Jack shook his head back and forth, back and forth. "I did it. I'm responsible for everything that happened to your children. It's all my fault."

A half-smile curled Pariah's lips. Jack blanched but stood firm. "You seem to believe that I feel some sort of paternal rage towards you."

"Well… yes?" Maddie clearly had no idea what was going on. Her posture was stiff, tight, alert for every smidgen of information that might buy her just a little bit more edge.

The half-smiled widened into at least a two-thirds-smile. "But do you not believe my kind infernal monsters, incapable of love or compassion? How then could I be father to my children?"

The Fentons stared at him blankly. They couldn't have been more nonplussed if he'd whacked them over the heads with a random salmon.

"You seem very confused about the moral status of my kind," screen-Pariah continued quietly. "At least now. Has my son's courage in saving your ungrateful lives finally forced the fact that not all ghosts and certainly not all half-ghosts are evil through your thick skulls? Or perhaps these doubts have been festering for days as you replayed how you betrayed your own daughter."

Maddie sucked in a quick breath. Jack went rigid. I glanced at Jazz, whose face had gone carefully blank, though her eyes glinted with something a bit more tangible than mere emotion. I gave her hand a tiny squeeze, was relieved when she squeezed back. So what if she was cutting off the circulation in my fingers? She clearly needed this.

"Jasmine is as well as can be expected. She grieves for you, of course, and plots for your redemption. She has not given up hope that one day, perhaps, you might taste reconciliation. Daniel is doing his best to comfort her-"

"_Shut up!_" Maddie cried. Her face had drained of color, was soaked with streams of sweat. "How dare you—filthy ghost—how _dare_ you—you—you—_you-"_ She lunged at him, skin reddening to match her hair, eyes ablaze.

Jack caught her by the arms. Her momentum dragged him forward a foot or so, but he was heavy and strong enough to keep her from continuing forward. "Like we'd believe a ghost," he snapped, but I could see—anyone could see—that he wasn't as certain as he'd like Pariah to believe.

Not being an idiot, my blood father noticed my foster father's hesitation. "Believe me or not, I speak the truth."

"Why should we believe you?" Maddie echoed her husband's defense. "You control those skeletons. Don't think I don't recognize them—they're the monsters that took over Amity Park four years ago!" She jutted an accusing finger at Pariah's chest. "And you're their master."

Pariah-not-on-the-screen allowed himself to wince at the reference to Djall. Pariah-on-the-screen, though, remained still, a picture of kingly composure. "They had been stolen from my control, and my son managed twice to defeat the usurper, though only at great personal cost." His self-control, iron caging fire, began to crack. For the first time since his ominous declaration that 'we need to talk,' I could see how much it cost my father to maintain his calm while speaking with those who had hurt his children.

Then he was a king again, not just a father, but a king who could not afford to let his anger burn through. Not much, anyways.

"I seem to remember that you saw him flying off into the first of those battles, a fight that saved your town from utter destruction. I know far too well what would have become of Amity Park if Djall the usurper had succeeded in conquering you." A small shiver wracked his frame. The eye tightened, flashed with pain. "If you had known what he saved you from, you would not doubt that you had raised a hero."

My jaw fell open. That was… really nice. It was really nice to hear my father call me a hero. So very nice that my chest tightened and a lump rose up in my throat—or maybe those were purely coincidental, related to my injuries and not to the emotions that made me want to laugh and sniffle all at once.

Pariah-on-the-screen's voice was low, dark, filled with the authority of one who _knows._ "Nor would you doubt that my kind are just the same as yours. We have filth, yes, like the beast who dragged your home across the worlds. But we also have men like my knight Roland, who remained loyal to me despite the cost to himself. We have women like Princess Dorothea, Daniel and Danielle's good friend—yes, they do have friends among the dead, friends who are just as dear as their living comrades—who had to fight her own brother to benefit her people. And of course my own children, of whom you clearly know nothing. For if you did know them, you would not cleave so strongly to your foolish prejudices."

Pariah strode forward until he was within a foot of the paralyzed Fentons. "One of my gifts is that I can see a person's crimes. I can see what you did to my son as an infant, how your casual cruelty hurt him as a youth. I can see the things you did to my people, the experiments and serums and weapons testing. I can see you disowning your own daughter for the crime of loving her brother, can see you disclaiming your son for the blood he cannot control. I can see many things in you, Jack Fenton, Madeline Fenton, and they fill me with revulsion."

I gulped. This really wasn't going too well.

"Don't worry," Jazz murmured, patting my hand. "They're fine. Shaken but fine." Couldn't she have said that before I started freaking out? Not that I don't appreciate the news that Jack and Maddie aren't currently stains on the floor of the prison, because I really do, but it would have been nice to know that from the very beginning. Just a simple, "Oh, by the way, everyone survived and in one piece, too!" would have sufficed.

The king in the screen towered over the two humans. Even Jack with all his bulk appeared a child next to the Lord of the Underworld. Menace crackled around him like lightning in a storm cloud that could burst from the heavens and scorch the earth at any given moment. His single eye shone; the glow around his body, the glow common to every ghost, burned like the sun's corona. The Crown of Fire in the background (still where it had fallen, I noted) blazed to outshine the sun, the remaining thralls slowed their work to wait, to watch.

Jack and Maddie were understandably scared. I'd be scared too, in their shoes. Their hands, still clasped together, squeezed; their knuckles whitened. Their faces paled, the Crown's light lending them a sickly greenish tint. But whatever their faults, these two were brave. They'd charged Undergrowth, sent probes into the Ghost Zone, opened an interdimensional portal in their _basement._ And because they were brave, they did not cower away.

If I wasn't so mad at them, so hurt and betrayed, I'd have been proud.

"Are you going to kill us then?" Jack whispered, unable to keep his voice from quaking.

Pariah leaned back. Ecto-energy flared in his palm, almost white with power. "I could," he said casually, conversationally. "And I would be well within my rights to execute you. I am a king, and your actions have harmed many of my subjects."

The Fentons looked faintly flabbergasted. Kings were pretty different from goop monsters.

"Not to mention a prince and princess, my only children. I even admit that there is a part of me—a small part, an _ugly_ part—that is almost tempted."

The energy in his hand doubled in size. Jack took a step back, pushed Maddie in a vain attempt to make her move behind him.

"But I am not the only one who has seen you."

The energy dissipated. Wind whooshed out from it, raising a tiny whirlwind of dust and gravel, blowing back the humans' hair.

"A part of them still loves you, you know. Despite the fear, despite the pain, despite the betrayal, the children you raised still yearn for your redemption. Jasmine especially has dedicated hours and hours to plans for making you see reason. They see something in you that I, with my gift to see only a person's crimes but not a criminal's better nature, cannot.

"Your crimes are of ignorance and pride, self-centeredness and cowardice. You fear admitting to yourselves that you are wrong, for if you are wrong—if you tortured a baby instead of just a juvenile monster, if you experimented on people instead of mindless beasts—then _you_ are the monsters, and you cannot bear that thought."

"You're the monsters," Jack hissed.

"But you have been questioning that conviction for a long time, have you not?" Pariah's voice was light, pleasant. He might as well have been discussing the weather. "And the more you question it, the more vicious you become. It frightens you, and you lash out at the source of that fear. The Phantom, the one who should have proved to you that you were worse than erroneous, completely and utterly _wrong._ Yet my son did not react as you wanted him to, and that made you angrier, more fearful….

"You are stubborn. Sometimes that is a good thing. Every warrior needs his share of determination. Yet in you, such mulishness is stupid beyond belief. You have passed the point of reason in your hate. But everyone has a breaking point, and I do believe that I know yours."

What little color remained in the Fentons' faces drained away, leaving them as pale as ghosts.

Ammut materialized, still wearing her favorite pink bow. Master called?

"I did indeed."

The chimera dropped something into her master's hand. Pariah accepted it, a small vial. "Water from the River Lethe," he explained to Jack and Maddie's befuddlement. "Have you heard of it?"

"In Greek mythology, the dead drank from it to wash away the memories of their old lives," Maddie recited automatically. "You're going to…?" She looked sick, her pale skin tinged with green.

"No, I shall not destroy your memories entirely. There is not enough. All I will do is make you forget your hate for one day. A single day ought to be more than enough."

"Forget our hate?" Jack breathed, eyes bulging.

"It is not something I do often," Pariah replied. "It can be dangerous in doses too large and is not always conductive to anything. Besides, I dislike meddling with the minds of others. In your case, though, this is the only way I can think of which will make you see reason."

His arm blurred. One hand gripped Jack's throat; the other forced the vial into his mouth. Jack swallowed automatically, too taken aback by the speed of Pariah's assault to put up a protest. Then Pariah turned to Maddie, who put up much more of a fight. But there's only so long you can go without swallowing, and eventually she was forced to drain the rest of the vial.

"It should start taking effect momentarily," Pariah told Jack, who had been tied up with goop when he tried to drag the king away from his wife. "I bid you farewell." With a nod, he backed into the swirling portal that opened behind him. Ammut and the few remaining thralls darted after him.

The last thing he saw before the portal closed was Jack, stricken and trembling, turn to his wife and cry out, "Maddie, what have we _done_?!"

* * *

><p>When I started writing this, it was supposed to be funny. No, really, it was supposed to make everyone rofl. But then this happened. Evidently resurrecting zombie!muses does strange things to fics. *is slightly bemused* Also, I'm leaning heavily on the whole Greek mythology thing here.<p>

Do any of you know where the title for the chapter came from?

Next update: 3 weeks from today, April 18.

-Corona


	19. Epilogue: Pomp and Circumstance

The familiar melody wasn't quite as clean and crisp as it was in recordings. Caspar High was a sports school, not a place where band kids were respected (or well funded), and the skill of the instrumentalists reflected that. Still, they gave it their best, and more than one parent grew misty-eyed as his or her not-so-little baby slowly ascended the stage.

Not me, though. Not that I'm a parent, but I _did_ have two people graduating here.

Sam is the only person I know who can make a graduation gown look gorgeous. On everyone else, it was little more than a bed sheet; on her, it was a point of pride, a queen's robe. Tucker…. Well, I actually made Danni admit (after so much prodding that she half-seriously accused me of having a rather disturbing man-crush on my best friend) that he looked 'decently handsome' in his robe. I probably shouldn't count that as a success in my longstanding plans to match them, but if nothing else, it'll be great blackmail material.

Due to their extended absences back in October and November, neither of my friends was eligible for salutatorian or valedictorian. But, as Tucker had repeatedly pointed out whenever I got bummed about pretty much spoiling their educations, at least they had some pretty high-ranking jobs waiting for them after high school. He would be the Lord Minister of Technology (a title which was now, much to our delight, official), and Sam was her parents' liaison with Kantara. She was in charge of negotiating trade contracts—the first since the Golden Age—between our two dimensions.

The music stopped. The last student—no, I corrected myself, the last graduate—settled into her seat.

Mr. Lancer glanced up, caught my eye. He smiled, inclined his head ever so slightly in greeting. I grinned back. Maybe when the ceremony was over, I could run back home, grab my GED, and bring it back to show off. It wasn't quite as prestigious as an actual diploma and _not_ something I'd had in mind all those years ago when I stepped into the portal, but funnily enough, it's pretty hard trying to juggle a high school education with princely duties and putting down the occasional rebellion. As Danni and Jazz frequently pointed out, it was a miracle I'd gotten anything resembling a degree, especially not before Sam and Tucker officially got theirs.

The salutatorian began her speech. It was the usual kind of thing you find at graduations, friendship and togetherness and community and all that jazz. If you've heard one of those speeches, you've heard them all. There were a couple decent jokes, but for the most part, I felt justified in letting my attention wander. I'd gotten good at letting my attention wander during speeches and still getting the gist of them. It's one of the… perks… (okay, not exactly) of being a prince: you get to sit through a _lot_ of speeches.

The Mansons sat to my right. Pamela's eyes filled with tears; she had to keep raising her pink handkerchief in order to see. I risked patting her on the arm. A few months ago, she would have sniffed, jerked away. Now, though, she responded with a watery smile.

The Foleys sat on my other side. They leaned forward, grinning and proud. If their eyes were a bit watery too, I wasn't going to say anything.

The speech ended. Another speech began.

Tucker fidgeted, uncomfortable in his gown, or maybe he just missed his PDA. He'd been loudly and repeatedly forbidden from bringing it to the ceremony. His mother had even threatened to sic the thralls on him. Tucker had backed off then, but only after giving the thralls a wary look as though judging how many of them he could take. In the end, though, he'd huffed a sigh and admitted that maybe, just maybe, he could survive without his beloved Pendra for an hour and a half—but if he ended up in the hospital with withdrawal symptoms, he knew who to blame.

Sam leaned back, bored. I couldn't see her face, but I could predict the expression well enough: eyes slightly glazed, facial muscles relaxed, mouth a bit open. She'd been to her own fair share of boring meetings. When Father learned of that, he'd smirked at me and commented that 'your choice' would make a wonderful princess one day—she already had the basics down.

You'd think that the king of the freaking Underworld would be less of an embarrassing parent….

Not that I'm complaining. These past few months with Pariah and Danni and Ammut, months where Clockwork is nearby and I don't have to worry about ghost attacks or world domination attempts and where Jazz and Sam and Tucker are just a portal or phone call away, have been amazing. Every day reminds me of just why the ancient ghosts chose to band together under one king, and I get to stand right there at his side as he does it again. Protest rates have plummeted these past few weeks, and Clockwork is convinced that soon—quite soon, he implied—we won't have to worry about riots and rebellions for a long, long time.

Of course, my half-life hasn't been perfect. There _have_ been rebellions, and riots, and mind-numbingly boring legalese lectures. I've been called a traitor, accursed of all sorts of unsavory things. People have spat in my face. But I'm used to it. It's impossible to make everybody happy, and no matter what you do, how many people you save, there will always be a few diehards who refuse to see anything good in you. Fortunately, I'd already learned that lesson here in Amity Park. Listening to pundits who think I'm the scum of the universe still hurts, but years of exposure here in the human world have given me a fairly thick skin.

Strangers hate me? Too bad, so sad, but I'm hardly going to cry over it. Only people I love have that kind of power over me. Them, or people with whom I have an absurdly complicated relationship.

Lancer called out the first name. Laura Aaronson, a petite girl with the smallest nose I've ever seen and big brown eyes that practically glowed with excitement, bounced up to the stage. Her family cheered and whooped and hollered as Principal Ishyama handed over her diploma. Laura ducked her reddening head, retreated to her seat with a big dopey grin.

My smile didn't quite meet my eyes. I'd always imagined that I'd be down there with the other teenagers, that Jack and Maddie would be the ones sitting up here between the Foleys and the Mansons (or, more likely, with the Foleys between them and the Mansons. Jeremy and Pamela have never exactly gotten along with Jack and Maddie). But here I was sitting between my friends' parents, a half-ghost hero with a GED and a fancy royal title. And Jack and Maddie, who didn't even know that I'd gotten a degree, who hadn't spoken with me in months, were in prison.

My sigh was hidden under thunderous applause as John Brekke accepted his diploma.

And yet….

Perhaps it was stupid to hold on to hope. No, scratch the perhaps. It _was_ stupid to do that. But I couldn't help but hope that the Lethe's enchanted water had washed the crazy from their minds, had forced the scales from their eyes so they could _see._ I hadn't thought of them as my true-parents for years, but we had still been together my entire life, and I knew that poor Jazz still yearned for a reconciliation. And Pariah had thought they had hope, right? So had Clockwork. He'd never said so, but he discussed Jack and Maddie's possible redemption with Jazz enough that he didn't have to explicitly say anything.

"Tucker Foley."

Maurice, Lola, and I jumped to our feet. "Go Tucker, go Tucker! Whoo whoo whoooooo!" Pamela and Jeremy rolled their eyes, but they were applauding too. They'd gotten to know Tucker a lot better these past few months, just as Tucker's parents had learned more about Sam.

Tucker wasn't as embarrassed as Laura Aaronson, but I could still make out a faint flush in his cheeks. I caught his eye, smirked. He should just be glad that I didn't bring along a bunch of thralls to cheer with us and that Danni, who was sitting invisible in the rafters (I'm still not sure why. It wasn't like she couldn't have sat down with the rest of us. Maybe she just liked the view?), had enough sense to remain silent. Amity Park hadn't had any ghost attacks for a while—our fight with the imposter was the last major incident, with a few minor events that were wrapped up in mere minutes—but the people remembered. Hearing cheers from the ceiling after such a long peace was a good way to start a panicky mob.

The graduation ceremony inched on. A year ago, I'd have fretted about all the time it was eating up, all the things I could be doing. Now, though, I was just grateful that I didn't have to go back to self-serving noblemen licking my boots for another couple of hours. Misery is relative just like time and space.

Finally it was Sam's turn to go forward. The Mansons and I stood, clapping until our palms ached. The Foleys whistled and cheered. Sam fought back a grin, trying to look like we were the most uncool things ever. She wasn't fooling anybody. Well, okay, maybe everyone else in the room, but not anybody who knew her.

And a year ago, she _would_ have fooled somebody who knew her. Four somebodies, in fact: Lola and Maurice and Pamela and Jeremy. But now that her parents (and Tucker's parents too, I guess, but mostly her parents) actually _know _her, have seen her secrets, have been forced to look at her through new eyes, they are closer than they have ever been. Old wounds have healed, old scars have faded. It's a healing process, just like Clockwork adjusting to the new way his powers work and Pariah recovering from Djall's madness and the Ghost Zone itself becoming Kantara again.

My mind went still.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. Names, diplomas, yada yada yada. I was too busy looking inside to pay attention.

"I now present to you the Class of Twenty-Ten!"

The band burst into song, a cacophony of brass and drums and, soaring above them all, a single flute's triumphant refrain. The audience yelled and cheered, voices breaking, stinging palms pounding together in a final applause. The graduates flipped their tassels; then, not taking their hands off their caps, flung the headgear into the air. They streamed out the door, into the atrium where they would meet with their parents and loved ones for pictures and laughter and celebration. The audience rose to its feet, surged out of the gym.

In the confusion, it was easy for an experienced sneak to turn invisible and intangible. I had time before anyone noticed my absence, before anyone figured out where I'd gone.

It didn't take long for me to schedule a meeting with Jack and Maddie Fenton, the two most famous prisoners in Amity Park. The secretary at the prison seemed a bit surprised that I'd want to schedule a meeting, but apparently Jazz had been by a few times without telling me and they'd met without incident (I would bet my toes that Jazz has been coming as their shrink instead of their daughter, psychoanalyzing them time and time again. I also bet that the only reason she hasn't told me about their visits yet is that she wants to cure them completely before letting me know what she's been up to), so she was willing to pencil me in. I left the jail fifteen minutes after arriving, content.

Did I hope that this meeting (five days from now, three in the afternoon, in a private room because the prisoners had been on good behavior these past few months and weren't deemed escape risks) would go well? Of course. How could I not? But did I _need _it to?

No.

If Jack and Maddie Fenton never came around, it was their own loss. I would be sad, yes, and Jazz and I would grieve together, but we had a new family now. It's a strange family, filled with ghosts and humans and a girl who is neither and both, but it's ours.

And right now, I'm going to spend time with that family. I'm going to attend Sam's huge graduation bash and tease her about how her parents have gone so ridiculously overboard. Tomorrow I'll do the same for Tucker. Then I'll visit Jazz and, when that's done, go back to the Keep, where Danni and Pariah and Ammut will be waiting for me.

Even if Jack and Maddie never come around, I'll still be complete. I still have a family. And I never have to worry about stumbling over _their _names.

* * *

><p>Complete! finitum est. id narravi.<p>

But why complete it here instead of adding another chapter of resolution? Simple: my muse still isn't doing so well. I don't want to risk her dying completely before the potential next chapters, and there wasn't much else that I could have written about without becoming redundant. So this is the end. Maybe, when I actually have time on my hands, I'll come back here for a one-shot or something, but for now... For now, this is the end.

It'll be a while before I put anything else in any fandom or universe up. No time, not a lot of inspiration. But I'll be back eventually. Until then, remember that you guys are great! Thanks for all the encouragement and support and patience.

Fare thee well,

-Corona


End file.
